The Ravishing of Lady Jane Ware

Roger wondered how Bernadotte's wife, Desiree, would like being Princess Royal among a haughty, ancient aristocracy. She and her sister Julie were the daughters of a Marseilles silk merchant named Clary; and Julie, having married Napoleon's elder brother, Joseph, was now technically Queen of Spain.

He knew Desiree much better than he did her husband, as he had been acquainted with the Clarys for many years. When Bonaparte had been a down-at-heels artillery officer, the wealthy Clarys had welcomed him and Joseph into their family circle. As both the girls had large dowries, the brothers had asked for their hands in marriage. Their father was dead, and their brother had reluctantly consented. Joseph had married Julie, but Napoleon, although Desiree was his first love, had jilted her to marry the aristocratic Josephine de Beauharnais. But the Emperor had always retained a soft spot for Desiree; and it was he who, as he happened to be reading a book with a hero named Oscar at the time of her son's birth, had insisted that she should give the child that name.

As things had turned out, it could not have been more appropriate, and Roger wondered how much Napoleon's affection for his old love had contributed to his letting Bernadotte have his way, instead of having him arrested as a potential danger. But he could not think that, having been brought up in the sunshine of the South of France, pretty, retrousse-nosed, little Desiree was going to enjoy much the bitter cold of a northern Kingdom.

When he asked Bourrienne how Bernadotte had been doing during his first months as Prince Regent, his friend shook his head.

'Owing to her wars of the past seventeen years, Sweden has become a miserably poor country. Ponte Corvo was of course, extremely wealthy. While a Marshal of the Empire he had amassed the fortune of a multi-millionaire, and my spies tell me that he is using it all to pay Sweden's debts. But his position is very precarious. The Emperor has demanded that he should subscribe to the Continental System and prohibit all commerce with England. If he does so, Sweden will face final ruin. If he does not, his old enemy, Davout, has orders to use his army here to invade Sweden. From Denmark that could be done with ease. Our allies, the Danes, would be delighted, and Sweden has no army worth the name with which to defend herself.'

Roger nodded. 'So that's how things stand. Well, Bernadotte is undoubtedly a courageous man and, by the standard of the times, an upright one; so one can only hope that he pulls through.'

Three days later Roger said good bye to his old friend and went aboard an American ship that plied regularly between Hull and Hamburg, bringing English woollens over to the Continent. The weather proved fair and the voyage uneventful. On the evening of October 18th, he landed in England, and the following night he arrived in London; now home for good, all his adventures and perils behind him, and about to start a new life with his divine Georgina.

As was his custom, he went straight to the Earl of Amesbury's mansion in Arlington Street, as his Lordship's son, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel lived there, and whenever Roger came to London, was delighted to have him as a guest.

When the front door was opened by a footman, it chanced that Droopy Ned was just crossing the hall. Turning to see who the visitor was, he peered at Roger with his short-sighted eyes. Suddenly, he dropped the book he was carrying and cried:

'God stap me! I'm seeing a ghost?

Advancing, Roger laughed, 'No, dear Ned. I am no ghost, although I know you believed me dead. Tis my very self, home again at last, and overjoyed to see you.'

The two old friends hugged each other, then Roger asked, 'What of Georgina; is she well?'

'She was, as ever, in bounteous health when I saw her not long since.'

'Where is she, Ned? Down at Stillwater’s? I cannot wait to see her.'

'Nay, she is not at Stillwater’s, but down at Newbury, Droopy replied.

Roger grinned. 'And what, pray, is she doing there? What e'er it be, I'll fetch her back within twenty-four hours. For, know you, before we parted seven months ago, she at last promised to marry me.'

A look of consternation suddenly appeared on Droopy's face and he blurted out, 'Oh, Roger, my dear! How can I tell you? But she married again, only a se'nnight since. She is now Her Grace the Duchess of Kew.'

10

A Limited Compensation

During the long years since Roger had run away from home to escape having to become a midshipman, Fate had dealt him many savage blows; but never one so shattering as this. His eyes wide with surprise and shock, he stared at his friend and whispered:

'It can't be true!'

Droopy Ned shook his head. 'Alas, dear Roger, it is. Like myself, she believed you dead. We both received your letters written in a cell for the condemned, and with mine there was a cutting from a Berlin news sheet. It stated that you had been executed that morning.'

"The article had been printed overnight, before it was known that Marshal Davout had succeeded in getting my sentence commuted to ten years' imprisonment.'

'Thank God for that. But we never learned of it. Georgina and I both mourned you as dead. She was so stricken that she shut herself up for ten days and refused to see anyone. Then she wore black for you for three months, as though you had been her husband.'

'But, dam'me Ned, to marry again! Before she wed von Haugwitz she had remained a widow for years. Why, in God's name, should she again rush into matrimony so swiftly?'

With a shrug of his narrow shoulders, Droopy replied, 'Several factors I think contributed to that. She told me that with your death all that was best in her life had ended. Her youth was over, and all zest for pleasure gone. She must resign herself to middle age. Her father's death, coming shortly after we received news of yours, was also a big blow to her.'

'What! Colonel Thursby dead?'

'Yes, of a heart seizure in mid-July.'

'Oh, poor Georgina!' Roger exclaimed. "Twas he who furnished her fine mind with a thousand matters that are closed books to most women, and so enabled her to enchant her friends with intellect as well as beauty. He came second only to myself in her affections; and spent a great part of each year with her. I, too, shall miss him sadly, for he was more a father to me than my own. But why, Ned, why if she sought distraction from her sorrows, must she marry, of all people, old K? He must be near twice her age, and has a most unsavoury reputation.'

'Old K', as the Duke of Kew was popularly known, was indeed a far from pleasant character. He was immensely rich and a great patron of the Turf. He had a big house at Newmarket and, when younger, had often backed himself to win a sackful of guineas by competing either in horse races or driving a tandem. But he was a slovenly man who took no care for his appearance, often going about in awful old clothes and a battered hat. This, and other eccentricities, together with his well-known lewdness and lechery, had long made him notorious.

Again Droopy shrugged. 'I think she was in so sad a state that she cared not what became of her. He had pursued her all through last season; and, you may recall, she had oft boasted that she would become a Duchess before her hair turned grey. It may be that in accepting him she felt she was bowing to a decree of Fate.'

'Well, she's got her full coronet of strawberry leaves,' Roger said bitterly, 'and left me to moan the loveliest dream of my life.'

Taking him by the arm, Droopy said, 'Come, Roger, let us go upstairs. A glass of wine will at least make you feel no worse.'

'A glass!' Roger gave a harsh laugh. 'Tis a bottle I need; nay, a dozen.'

And he meant what he said. When, on returning to the West Indies at the end of 1795, he had learned that his wife, Amanda, had recently died in giving birth to their daughter, Susan, he had made himself drunk for a week. Now he followed that precedent and, for days, never left his bedroom while emptying bottle after bottle of Madeira. In vain Droopy begged him to moderate his potations, fearing that he would do himself an injury; but he remained maudlin and almost silent day after day while nursing his grief.

Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel was an unusual character for the age in which he lived. He abhorred all blood sports, horses, and any form of exercise. His interests lay in ancient religions, collecting antique jewellery and experimenting on himself with Eastern drugs. On the eighth morning after Roger had become his guest, he was amusing himself by translating a Greek papyrus that had come from Egypt. To his surprise, Roger came into his room, freshly shaven and dressed with his usual, almost foppish, elegance. The only signs of his long debauch were a slight watering of his eyes and the redness of his face. Sitting down, he crossed his silk stockinged legs and said:

'Well, Ned. I fear I've behaved like a very sot this past week; but, at least I've got the plaguey bile out of my system. I'm now as resigned as ever I am like to be to Georgina's having married.'

'Zeus be praised for that/ Droopy replied, rubbing his high-bridged nose with a long, slender finger. 'And what now are your plans? You know that, as ever, you are welcome to stay here as long as you wish.'

"Thanks, Ned. I'll gladly accept your hospitality until

I can settle on how to occupy myself in the future. But tomorrow I'd like to go down to Stillwater’s and spend a night or two there. That is, if Georgina has left my little Susan in her Great-Aunt Marsham's care.'

'She has, at least for the present, while she is-er- during these first weeks of her marriage.'

Roger gave a cynical laugh. 'You would have said, "while she is on her honeymoon", eh? Though how she can bring herself to pleasure that old roué passes my comprehension. But we'll not dwell on that. I'll take a stroll round the town now, and buy some gee-gaws for my daughter.'

On her return to England in the spring, Georgina had given Droopy a true account of the events at Schloss Langenstein, so that evening Roger had only to relate the story of his imprisonment and escape.

Next morning he rode the twenty miles to Stillwater’s, near Ripley in Surrey, which had long been Georgina's home. The day following his arrival, Droopy Ned had sent a messenger down to let Mrs. Marsham and Susan know that Roger was not dead; so they received no shock when he entered the house and greeted them. As for the greater part of his manhood he had lived abroad, his daughter was almost a stranger to him; so he was most agreeably surprised when she cried out with delight and threw herself into his arms.

Susan was now nearly fifteen and well developed for her age. She had her mother's auburn hair, freckles and blue eyes, with a feminine version of Roger's finely-chiselled features. There could be no doubt that, within a few years, she would be one of the toasts of the town. He felt justly proud of her, and her joy in seeing him again greatly added to his pleasure in giving her the costly furs and jewels suitable to her age that he had brought with him.

But before he had been in the house for long he was overcome by the same depression he had felt during his last visit, when Georgina had been in Germany and married to von Haugwitz. The stately mansion, with its lovely garden, woods and lake, gave him little pleasure now that they were no longer animated by her gay spirit. As he wandered about the splendid, lofty, now empty salons, he was filled with nostalgia as he recalled the days when they had been crowded with statesmen, poets, ambassadors, painters and lovely women. A visit to the suite so often occupied by Colonel Thursby caused him new grief at the loss of that gentle, clever and dear friend; while Georgina's rooms, their fine furniture now under covers, brought home to him more strongly than ever the bitter disappointment he had suffered on learning that it was now no longer possible for him to make her his wife. Sitting down on the side of her big bed he thought of the way in which they had often frolicked in it, and was near to bursting into tears.

On the morning after his arrival he felt that he could bear to remain there no longer; yet was plagued by the thought of his duty to Susan. Often enough he had reproached himself for having been such a bad father; and, now that he had the opportunity of repairing his neglect of the girl, he was contemplating leaving her again within a matter of hours.

Then he hit upon a plan that greatly revived his spirits. He meant, in any case, shortly to live again at Thatched House Lodge in Richmond Park, a 'Grace and Favour residence of which Mr. Pitt had given him the life tenancy for his services to the Crown. He would have Aunt Marsham and Susan to live with him there for a while.

That afternoon he told them of his plan. Mrs. Marsham said that such a change would be pleasant, and Susan jumped for joy. Then, struck by a thought, she said, 'But, Papa, we must be back here by mid-December, for Charles will be returning from Eton.'

She had been brought up with Georgina's boy, and knowing their devotion to each other Roger replied, 'Unless his mother has other plans for him, we'll have him, too, at Richmond, and make it a truly merry Christmas.' Half an hour later he had mounted his horse and was on his way back to London.

After riding a few miles it suddenly occurred to him that if the report of his death had reached the Prime Minister, the tenancy of Thatched House Lodge might, by now, have been given to somebody else; so he made a slight detour in order to go there. To his considerable relief he found Dan Izzard, the ex-smuggler who acted as caretaker for him, up on the roof replacing a broken tile. As had always been the case after Roger's long absences, the house and garden had been well cared for and Dan, although now ageing, was still hale and hearty. Since Amanda's death Roger had occupied the house only for brief periods at long intervals, so it had not even occurred to Dan that his master might be dead, and, giving a cheerful hail, the old salt came nimbly down the ladder to welcome him.

Roger stayed only long enough to knock back a noggin of rum with his bearded retainer, and tell him to engage an adequate staff during the coming week; then he rode on in the gathering twilight to Arlington Street.

For the next ten days he took up again the life he normally led while in the capital. It was the dead season, so many of the big mansions in the West End were closed and shuttered, while their owners took toll of pheasants and partridges in the country. But Parliament was in session, the leading clubs: White's, Brook's, Boodle's and Almack's, still had their quotas of gamblers every night, a play at Drury Lane was nightly drawing crowds, there were several other good pieces on and a number of exhibitions.

As Roger and Droopy were both members of White's, they went there frequently, and Roger was soon brought up-to-date with the political scene. Early in 1806, after over fourteen years of unremitting effort by Pitt to check the destruction by the French of the old order in Europe, Napoleon's victory at Austerlitz had broken the Third Coalition and, with it, Pitt's heart. Exhausted and in despair, the great champion of true liberty had turned his face to the wall and died.

His Ministry had shortly been followed by one led by his lifelong rival, James Fox. It had been composed mainly of Whigs and been termed, 'The Ministry of All the Talents'. But it had turned out to be a coalition of weak, discordant men who lacked all initiative in prosecuting the war. Fox's death, that September, had heralded the end of its short life and, for two decades, rule by the Whigs.

In December the Duke of Portland had brought together a Cabinet with Spencer Perceval as Prime Minister. Perceval was a very skilful politician, and a fluent orator, but not a very forceful personality. However, he had George Canning as Foreign Secretary, and Lord Castlereagh as his Secretary of State for War.

At Oxford Canning had been one of a circle of brilliant young Whigs, but his admiration for Pitt brought him over to the Tories. In 1800 he married Portland's sister-in-law, who was a great heiress. He was made Postmaster General, then in 1807 Perceval had given him the Foreign Office.

Castlereagh had made his name as Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. He had fought hard for Union and Catholic-emancipation; but George III had rejected these measures so stubbornly that, in 1801, Pitt had resigned and Castlereagh with him. In 1805, on Pitt's return to office, Castlereagh had been made Secretary of State for War and, later, under Perceval, again filled that office.

Both Canning and Castlereagh had striven hard to re arouse the determination of the war wear' British people to defeat Napoleon, and had prosecuted hostilities with renewed vigour. The former had been responsible for the cutting out by the British Navy of the Danish Fleet at Copenhagen, thus preventing it from falling into the hands of the French and again giving them near-parity at sea after their defeat at Trafalgar. The latter had initiated the use of fire ships, in an attempt to destroy the great French flotilla at Boulogne, which was being assembled for the invasion of England.

Unfortunately, early in Perceval's ministry, the two had quarreled. On the withdrawal of the British Army from Corunna, after Sir John Moore's death there, Canning had pressed for a renewal of the war in the Peninsula and had sent the able Marquis Wellesley as Ambassador to the Spanish Junta of Insurrection. It was he, too, who had secured the appointment of the Marquess' younger brother, Sir Arthur Wellesley, as Commander of the new British Army sent out to aid the Spaniards. An undertaking had then been given that all the support of which Britain was capable should be used for this campaign. Castlereagh had agreed but, after the British had withdrawn from Copenhagen, sent the troops there to Gothenburg instead, in order to close the Baltic to the Russians. Then, without Canning's knowledge, he had sent a British expedition to the fever ridden island of Walcheren, at the mouth of the Scheldt, where it had failed dismally in its objective of capturing Antwerp.

Angered by this dispersal of troops which he had expected to be sent to reinforce the Army in the Peninsula, Canning had demanded Castlereagh's dismissal, with the threat that otherwise he would himself resign. Neither Perceval nor Portland had had the courage to inform Castlereagh of this situation, so he had not been made aware of it for several months. When at length it came to his knowledge, the two Ministers had quarreled furiously and fought a duel. The first shots of both had gone wide. Canning's second shot had glanced off a button on Castlereagh's coat, and Castlereagh's had slightly wounded Canning in the thigh. Both had then resigned.

The Marquis Wellesley replaced Canning as Foreign Secretary. He had spent a number of years as Governor General of India and proved a most able administrator. It was there, too, that his brother Arthur had made his name, as Commander-in-Chief during several victorious campaigns. Having long ruled over vast territories, when the Marquis returned to England in 1806 his associates found him extremely haughty and self willed. At the Foreign Office he proved the same, rarely bothering to attend Cabinet meetings, and holding the Prime Minister in contempt.

Lord Liverpool had taken over the War Office from Castlereagh, and had followed his policy of greatly increasing the army establishment; so that, including reserves, it now stood at over half a million men. Between them, he and Wellesley had overcome the former considerable opposition to continuing the war in the Peninsula, and were now the strongest men in the Government.

However, the burning question of the hour was a recurrence of the King's malady. Some twenty years earlier his mind had become unstable, which had resulted in George, Prince of Wales, becoming temporary Regent. The King had recovered but, in recent years, had become increasingly feeble both in mind and body. A cataract had made him totally blind in one eye, and another in the other eye had so restricted his sight that he could not recognize anyone at a distance of more than four feet. He had, moreover, recently become quite mad, imagining that he was still King of Hanover, and that the Countess of Pembroke, for whom in his youth he had nurtured a secret passion, was his wife.

He was a simple man and very pig headed. His disastrous refusal to give his colonies in America a measure of self-government had led to their total loss; and his deeply religious scruples made him adamant in resisting all measures that would give equal rights to his Catholic and Nonconformist subjects. But he had gained the love of his people by his intense patriotism and the fact that he grew the biggest turnips in England-which had earned him the nickname of 'Farmer George'.

On the other hand, the Prince, now long known as 'The First Gentleman in Europe', was disliked and distrusted by both the nobility and a large section of the people. He was dissolute, a liar and a spendthrift of the first order. Again and again his mountainous debts had had to be paid, and his earlier morganatic marriage to Mrs. Fitzherbert a Catholic had been far from gaining him popularity.

As he loathed his father, he had done all he could to annoy him and, with that in view, made himself the patron of the Whigs. It was this, now that a Regency would again have to be proclaimed, that was causing great concern to the Tory peers; and, to protect their government, they were endeavoring to render the Prince almost powerless by hedging the Regency about with many restrictions.

It was not until towards the end of November that Roger saw Georgina again. By then Mrs. Marsham and Susan had been installed in Thatched House Lodge, and he was greatly enjoying having his pretty and cheerful young daughter in the house. But fairly frequently, when he accepted invitations to social functions in London, he spent a night or two with Droopy Ned.

On this occasion they had both been present at a dinner given by the Earl of Malmesbury at the Beefsteak Club, which he had taken over for the evening. The great diplomat, now retired, had been one of Roger's earliest patrons. He had become very deaf but, nevertheless, it had been an hilarious evening. Next morning Roger had decided to ride in Rotten Row. It was a pleasant autumn day, so quite a number of ladies were taking the air in their carriages. Among them was Georgina, looking as lovely as ever, her dark curls falling on the collar of an ermine cloak, and wearing an enormous picture hat crowned with white ostrich feathers. Catching sight of Roger, she jerked the string tied to her coachman's little finger, and her carriage pulled up.

11

The Trap

Roger's heart began to pound. He could not make up his mind whether he was glad or sorry to see her. But he could not ignore her beckoning hand. Dismounting, and with his horse's reins over his arm, he made a leg, then put one foot on the step of the carriage and, with a smile, asked:

'Well, how does it feel to be a Duchess?'

Georgina hesitated nervously for a moment before breaking into hurried speech, 'No different. But Roger, my dear, let's not talk of that. Oh, I pray you not to hold it against me, for I believed you dead. It seems that we are fated never to marry. I can only thank God that you are still alive.'

'I, too,' he agreed. 'Although for a while after I got back to England I wished myself dead. But does our meeting here not remind you of another occasion when we met by accident?'

'Why, yes!' she exclaimed, with a quick smile. ' 'Twas on this very spot that, in '89, we encountered each other after your return from four years on the Continent. How strange a coincidence.'

'It is indeed. What would I not give that we might roll back the years and again enjoy what followed our meeting.'

Her big eyes suddenly lighting up, she leaned forward and whispered. 'Roger, why should we not? I have always retained the little house on the height above Kensington village, for the sake of its studio. Let us meet there this evening.'

'There's nothing I'd like better,' Roger whispered back. 'But what of your Duke?'

She shrugged. 'The old fellow is still down at Newmarket. He no longer cares for London, and I made it a condition of our marriage that I should come here when I wished. I've been lying these past few nights at Kew House, his mansion in Piccadilly. It has a glorious view over St. James' Park, but for tonight I'll forgo that vista. Join me at our old haunt, dear Roger, no later than eight o'clock.'

Feeling a dozen years younger, Roger drove out that evening to Georgina's petite maison. In the old days she had used it not only to have painting lessons from Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Gainsborough, whom she had incited to a jealous rivalry as her teachers; she had also secretly received there the beaux she had decided to pleasure.

Roger thought it unlikely that she would fail to bring from Kew House a supper of some sort; but, against the chance that she had found it awkward to explain a sudden demand for a picnic basket on a November evening, he had brought as a contribution two bottles of champagne, a cold roast duck and a Strasbourg pate that had recently been smuggled over.

Now dear Jenny, who for so many years had served Georgina as a personal maid and confidant, was happily married to an ex-bosun and living in a cottage she had been given on the Stillwater’s estate; so it was another buxom young woman named, as he soon learned, Harriet, who opened the door to him, took the valise he had brought and smilingly showed him in to her mistress.

Clad only in a silk chamber robe, Georgina was lying on a comfortable sofa before a roaring fire. Jumping up, she threw her arms about him and he drew her soft, yielding form into a tight embrace. When they had temporarily taken their fill of kisses, she bade him go into the bedroom and get out of his heavy clothes. When he returned he had on only his chamber robe. Taking her in his arms again, he pushed her back on the sofa, buried his face in her neck and let his hand caress her opulent thighs. She opened them to him, but only for a minute, then pulled his hand away. Her eyes were closed and her breath was coming fast, as she panted:

'Roger, you devil, desist. I vow you would seduce a saint, and I'm mightily tempted to let you have me here and now. But I'll not. Young Harriet will soon be bringing us our supper. She would be hard to shock, for I know my coachman to be her lover. Even so, I've no wish to let her see me half naked, my legs entwined with yours, and you up to the hilt in me. 'Tis not as though we had not the whole night before us.'

Roger laughed. 'Then, sweet, you'd best send for some cold water, so that I may reduce my manhood to more normal proportions.' But he let her go and rearranged his robe more decorously.

They supped beside the fire. Georgina was much amused by Roger's idea that she would even dream of giving an explanation to her chef on requiring him to produce food for her to take out of the house at any hour of the day or night. She had brought oysters, a hen lobster, a game pie and a pineapple_s as well as ample wine. Both of them had always had hearty appetites, so they tucked into this fine selection of good things until they were both belching between their bouts of laughter.

Over the meal Roger told her all that had befallen him since he had put her on to the frigate off St. Maxime. At his description of de Brinevillers lashed to the commode, with his nose only six inches above its pot, tears of mirth came to Georgina's eyes and she cried:

'Oh, the poor wretch, how I should have loved to see him; but he deserved worse. Had I been there I would have rubbed his face in it.'

Her voyage home had been without incident. Before she had been an hour aboard the surly Captain had given up his cabin to her and was eating out of her hand. At Gibraltar, the Admiral commanding there had been an old friend and made no difficulty about securing her a passage in the first ship bound for England. In the Bay of Biscay it had been rough; but she was a good sailor, so had ridden out the three-day storm, and been landed safely at Portsmouth in mid-April.

When Roger asked her about her marriage, she said, ' 'Tis well enough. The news of your death and, following closely on it, that of my beloved Papa, reduced me to a state that I have never before experienced. I felt so low that I no longer cared what happened to me. By summer, soon after I returned to town, a dozen men were, as usual, after me. I could not stomach the thought of going to bed with any of them. But I'll confess that I was tempted by the thought of becoming a Duchess and wearing the famous Kew emeralds; so, in the autumn, I accepted the old goat.'

' "Goat" is a fitting description of him,' Roger remarked a shade acidly. 'I well remember how, to the amusement of passers by, he used to lean over his balcony in Piccadilly and beckon up the whores to rut upon. Since you say that you had no desire left to bed with even a handsome man, it amazes me that you could find it in you to give yourself to an ugly, elderly roué.'

Her eyes widened, and she cried, 'Do you then suppose that I let him make love to me? Lud, no! He's long past that; as impotent as a new born child. He now gets his pleasure by seeing me naked. But that means nothing to me. A cat may look at a king. So, when I feel well disposed toward him, I let him gaze his fill.'

The clock on the mantel chimed ten. As though at a signal, they smiled at each other and stood up. Georgina led the way to the bedroom, Roger followed her, carrying a bottle of champagne. Two minutes later, they were between the black silk sheets of her bed.

During the night, between bouts of love making, they dozed or talked and made plans for the future. Before consenting to marry her Duke, Georgina had wisely discussed with him their marital relations. Since, as she had supposed, age had rendered him impotent, she had told him that she would not marry him unless he left her free to satisfy the urges natural to a woman of her years. As his main reason for wanting to marry her was the right to show her off in public as his, to the envy of other men, he had agreed, provided she took care that her amours should not become generally known.

In consequence, however much the servants at Kew House might prattle, she did not have to account to her husband for her comings and goings. Overjoyed that they would be able to spend two or three nights a week together as long as she remained in London, Roger raised the question of Christmas.

Naturally, they wanted to spend it together, if possible; but either for her to have him to stay at Newmarket or for him to have her at Richmond they felt to be too blatant. It then occurred to her that the answer to the problem was for them all to spend Christmas at Stillwater’s. It had been the children's home for the greater part of their lives and, as Susan's father, Roger was accounted one of the family. It might even make a pleasant change for the old Duke and, provided they were discreet, he would give them no trouble.

The three months that followed turned out to be one of the happiest periods of Roger's whole life. Although his hope of settling down for good with Georgina had been dashed, the fact that she had a complaisant husband enabled them to see a great deal of each other both in private and public, since both the Duke and all society were aware of their lifelong friendship and that whenever Roger was for a while in London he had escorted her everywhere.

Susan's stay at Thatched House Lodge had at last enabled him to get to know his daughter well, and he experienced a hitherto unknown joy in the affection shown him by this gay, pretty young creature who called him Papa.

When she and Mrs. Marsham returned to Stillwater’s, he followed them a few days later. Georgina and her Duke were already installed, and Roger found the old man more congenial company than he had expected. His Grace was no fool, had a cynical wit and an excellent taste for claret, old Madeira and vintage port. From a few sly remarks he made, it soon became apparent that he had tumbled to it that Roger was his wife's lover; but, as their long friendship provided them with excellent cover, it suited him much better to be cuckolded by Roger than for her to start a new affaire which might have provoked a scandal.

As, from the beginning, Georgina had insisted that she and her husband should occupy separate rooms, having seen her to bed he always left her round about midnight; so Roger, to whom she had given his old room on the far side of her boudoir, was able to sleep with her for the greater part of the night.

Young Charles came down from Eton the day after Roger arrived, and the children enjoyed the happiest Christmas they had known for years, Roger and Georgina rode with them every morning and, anxious that the young Earl should become a good swordsman, Roger spent an hour or two every day teaching him to fence.

On Christmas Day there were dozens of presents for everybody, golden guineas in the Christmas pudding and, at the end of the meal, the candies having been put out, a blazing snapdragon was brought in, from which they snatched the raisins at the risk of burning their fingers. Then, in the evening, they sat in semi darkness round the Yule log, telling ghost stories.

On Boxing Day, they had the traditional servants' dinner and dance; then, for the 27th Georgina had invited a hundred of her neighbours to a ball and, for the first time, the children were allowed to take part in such a festivity. In the days that followed there were a special party for them to entertain their contemporaries, visits to neighbours and entertainments given by them. The church bells of Ripley rang in 1811 and the inmates of Stillwater’s celebrated the New Year with all the time honoured games and songs.

On January 3rd, for appearances' sake, Roger returned to Thatched House Lodge, but it had been agreed that, as soon as Charles went back to Eton, Mrs. Marsham and Susan should again join him there and that later in the year Roger should pay a visit to Georgina's new home at Newmarket. Meanwhile the little season* was about to open in London, so she would be living for a while in Piccadilly and they would be able to see each other as often as they wished.

A fortnight later, at a diplomatic reception, Roger ran into an old acquaintance. This was a tall, dark man with beetling eyebrows, named Alfonso de Queircoz, who had been First Secretary at the Portuguese Embassy at Isfahan when Roger had been there in the summer of 1807.

There had been no friendship between them there, because de Queircoz had been madly in love with the Ambassador's beautiful daughter, Lisala, and Roger had cut him out; but it was for another reason that the meeting was far from welcome. In Isfahan the Portuguese had known him as M. le Colonel de Breuc, a member of the French mission.

However, on previous occasions he had surmounted such awkward situations arising from his dual identity; so, having returned de Queircoz's bow, he waited with a half-smile on his lips to hear how the diplomat would address him.

As it turned out, he was not called on to resort to his well-established catalogue of plausible lies, for de Queircoz said, 'Sir, you must pardon me for accosting you, but you bear so strong a resemblance to M. le Colonel de Breuc that I feel sure you must be his English cousin.'

'Indeed, Sir, I am,' Roger replied. 'In appearance we are near twins and have oft been mistaken for each other. I take it then that you know him?'

'Yes, we met in Persia, and to my cost. I was then paying court to the lovely Lisala de Pombal; but, after your handsome cousin's arrival on the scene, she had no eyes for anyone but him.'

Roger nodded. 'It seems, then, Senhor, that you have been twice fated to be thwarted by my family. For you may have heard that later, in Lisbon, I met Lisala, accompanied her to Brazil and married her.'

'Yes, I did hear that. Also that, eighteen months or so ago, she died in mysterious circumstances in Germany. Please accept my sincere condolences.'

'Alas, it was so.' Roger's face took on a suitable expression of grief. 'As you no doubt know, her death was caused by a strange accident which has never been accounted for.'

'So I gathered, although my informant could give me no details of the tragedy. I can only again condole with you, Sir, on your great loss.'

'I thank you, Senhor.' Roger bowed, and was about to move away, when de Queircoz said:

'While I naturally resented your cousin ruining my chances with the Senhorita in Isfahan, having lost any hope of her returning my affection I bear no ill will toward you, Sir, in that later she became your wife. Two nights hence we are giving a reception at the Portuguese Embassy, and I should be honoured if you would attend it as my guest.'

It happened that Roger was free for that evening so, out of politeness, he accepted.

When he arrived at the reception, the dark-browed Portuguese received him most courteously, presented him to the Ambassador, and then to several agreeable ladies. Later in the evening he rejoined Roger, refilled his glass with wine and led him over to a small table; then said:

'It is not for me, Sir, to enquire into your circumstances; but, unless you are immensely rich, it surprises me that you have not yet claimed the great fortune that awaits you in Lisbon.'

Since Lisala's death Roger had had so many other things to occupy his mind that his being his wife's natural heir had never occurred to him.

De Queircoz was going on: The late Marquis' sister, Dona Arahna, returned from Brazil last summer. When she learned that Lisala was dead and had left no will, she applied for permission to administer her late niece's estate on behalf of her son, Captain Don Carlos, who is serving with the Anglo-Portuguese contingent under General Graham, which is bottled up with the Spanish in Cadiz. But the court ruled that the Marquis' nephew had no title to inherit unless it was proved that you, too, were dead or, for a period of seven years, had failed to make your claim. So you have only to go to Lisbon and complete the formalities, then the whole of the de Pombal millions will be yours.'

Roger thanked the Portuguese for having given him this valuable information, talked on with him for a while, then left the party deep in thought. The following night he discussed the matter with Georgina.

There seemed no reason to believe that de Queircoz knew that Roger had been accused of his wife's murder and sentenced to death on that account; nor, as that had taken place at the other end of Europe, that anyone in Lisbon should be aware of it. Even if they were, in Portugal there was no likelihood whatever of his being apprehended for having escaped from a Prussian prison. And, although during the past twenty years he had amassed a quite considerable fortune, the prospect of becoming immensely rich was not a thing to be lightly thrown away.

He was, however, somewhat troubled by the ethics of the matter. Lisala would not willingly have left him a button, and it seemed unfair to deprive the Senhora de Arahna's son, who had come into his uncle's title, of the means with which to support it, and also of the family estates.

Georgina then suggested a compromise. Why should not Roger go to Portugal, establish his claim in the courts and afterwards divide his inheritance? He could hand over to the young man the estates, with sufficient money to maintain them, but keep for himself a good part of, Lisala's fortune. Having made this suggestion she added:

'During the past two months there has been hardly a day that we have not spent part of together; but we must not go on like this indefinitely, otherwise old K will say that our affaire is becoming too obvious and will start making trouble. To honour my bargain with him I ought now to spend a month or so at his seat near Newmarket. Meanwhile, you could go to Lisbon and, at least, put in your claim. Then, on your return, I'd come back to London and we would renew the happy life we have been leading.'

Roger agreed that if he went abroad for a while that would be a good way of retaining the Duke's passive acceptance of him as Georgina's lover; so, the following morning, he went to the Foreign Office and sent up his name to the Marquis Wellesley, whom he had met several times in society.

Three quarters of an hour later, the Marquis received him and listened politely to his request for a passage to Lisbon; then he said, 'So you are going abroad again, Mr. Brook? I am delighted to hear it, as I have no doubt your secret activities will prove of great value to my brother.'

Staring at him in surprise, Roger replied, 'I do not understand Your Lordship. To what secret activities do you refer?'

'Don't fence with me, man,' the haughty Marquis said with a frown. 'Having been Foreign Secretary for near eighteen months, I have had ample time to go through the secret files. From them I learned that for many years Mr. Pitt accounted you his most resourceful secret agent, and more recently you sent from Vienna valuable information to my predecessor, George Canning.'

Roger relaxed. 'Then, my lord, I'll not deny it. But I have no intention of resuming my dual identity when I am in Portugal. My object in going to Lisbon is solely to claim an inheritance that is my due.'

"That is to be regretted. I had supposed that you had become weary of leading an aimless life in London and intended again to serve your country by securing for us particulars of the intentions of the French. However, since you have a matter requiring your presence in Lisbon, I will willingly secure you a passage in one of His Majesty's ships.'

Having thanked the Marquis, Roger left his address and took his leave.

He did not have long to wait as, now that a considerable part of Portugal was in British hands, warships and transports were constantly leaving for Lisbon. Moreover, there would be no necessity for him to land secretly on a deserted shore at night, as he had three years earlier, when the country was occupied by the French.

The following morning a sealed packet was delivered to him at Thatched House Lodge. It contained instructions that, two days hence, he should report to Captain Hurst of H.M.S. Swiftsure, lying off Greenwich; also a letter addressed to General the Viscount Wellington and a note from the Marquess asking him to deliver it personally to his brother.

Roger had already told Susan that he would be going abroad for a few weeks, so she and Mrs. Marsham were to return to Stillwater’s. After packing the things he was likely to need, he took a fond farewell of his daughter and went up to London. That night and the next he spent with Georgina out at her little house above Kensington village. She was now loath to let him go, but resigned herself to it after he had promised to take care of himself. Next morning he said good-bye to Droopy Ned, then went down to Greenwich and presented his credentials to Captain Hurst, who allotted him a little cabin and said he was happy to have his company.

The Swiftsure was one of the newest frigates and she had, for the time of year, a good passage. Roger suffered only one day of really bad seasickness, and landed at Lisbon on the 31st January.

Within a couple of hours he was installed at the Leao d'Ouro, a comfortable inn at which he had stayed previously. While he was unpacking his bags, he ran over in his mind the course that the war in the Peninsula had taken.

It had been started by Napoleon in October 1807, with the object of forcing Portugal to accept his Continental System and cease importing British goods. Without warning he had dispatched an army, under General Junot, to capture Lisbon and coerce the Prince Regent into agreeing to his demands. Only just in time the Royal Family had escaped by sea and fled to Brazil. But Napoleon had a mind to be master of Spain also. As his reluctant ally, Spain had been bullied by him into sending her best troops to garrison fortresses in Germany, while he deployed his French troops against Austria. Then, when Spain was almost defenceless, on the excuse that the British might invade Portugal he had sent large forces, theoretically to resist such an invasion, but actually to seize, by guile and treachery, the principal fortresses in Spain.

In March, King Carlos IV had been forced to abdicate by his son Ferdinand. Napoleon had lured both of them across the frontier to Bayonne, on the pretext of adjudicating between them; but had made them prisoners. This had roused the Spanish people to such fury that, on May 2nd, the citizens of Madrid had revolted against Murat who, a few months earlier, had occupied the capital and been nominated the Emperor's Lieutenant-General.

Napoleon's next move had been to bring his brother, Joseph, from Naples and make him King of Spain, replacing him on the throne of Naples by Murat. By then it was high summer, the whole of Spain in revolt and a Junta had been formed of Spanish notables. They had little control over their scattered forces, but entered into an alliance with Britain. In an attempt to suppress the risings, Marshal Moncey had been dispatched to Valencia and General Dupont down to Seville, but Moncey was forced to retire on Madrid and, to the grievous humiliation of the French who, under Napoleon, had never before suffered such a defeat, Dupont had been compelled to surrender at Baylen. Joseph had then panicked, evacuated his new capital and retired behind the Ebro.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards were putting up a fanatical resistance. Saragossa was held by Palafox until the city was reduced to ruins by Lannes, and the French under General Dubesme were besieged in Barcelona. On August 3rd, a British army under Sir Arthur Wellesley landed in Mondego Bay. Junot went out from Lisbon to meet it and, at Vimiero, was so heavily defeated that he had to surrender. Most unfortunately, within hours of having won the battle, two Generals senior to Wellesley arrived from England and superseded him. Instead of making the whole French Army prisoner, they had entered into a Convention with Junot at Cintra to send his whole force back to France in British ships. For this incredible piece of folly, all three Generals were recalled to England and court-martialled. Only Wellesley was exonerated.

Meanwhile, Napoleon had ordered the corps of Ney, Mortier and Victor to Spain and, in October, arrived himself on the frontier to direct operations. The Spanish armies, though large, lacked all co-ordination; so the forces confronting the Emperor were strong only on the wings. Smashing through their weak centre, he routed them utterly and retook Madrid.

The year 1809 had opened by Sir John Moore landing in northern Spain. Unaware of Napoleon's great strength and believing that Madrid was still holding out, he sought, to create a diversion in Old Castile and cut the Emperor's line of communication. But Napoleon learned of his whereabouts and concentrated a much larger army against him. His hasty retreat had ended with the battle of Corunna and his death. The bulk of the British army had been evacuated, leaving only a small force under General Baird, which had retired on Lisbon.

At this juncture Napoleon received information that Talleyrand and Fouche were conspiring against him, so he returned to Paris at full speed, after leaving directions as to how the campaign was to be brought to a successful conclusion. Ney was to hold down Galicia, while Soult took Oporto, then Lisbon. Victor was to take Badajoz, then Seville. Sebastiani was to crush the Spanish resistance in the south.

In March, after an appalling slaughter of men, women and even children who, under their Bishop, had striven to defend the city, Soult had taken Oporto; but, hemmed in on all sides by guerrillas, he had not felt himself strong enough to advance any further. The following month Wellesley landed at Lisbon with a considerable army. Victor cut a large Spanish force to pieces at Medellin but, like Soult, isolated and without reinforcements, became stuck there.

In May Wellesley decided to move fast against Soult and, if successful, rapidly turn about and attack Victor. By a daring crossing of the Douro where the banks of the river were so precipitous that they had been left unguarded, he heavily defeated Soult and chased him out of Oporto; but he just failed to catch Victor, whose army had been reduced to such a state of starvation that he had withdrawn to the valley of the Tagus.

Wellesley then formed a plan with the Spanish generals that they should make a demonstration against Madrid, while he attempted to crush Victor. On June 27th, the British and French met at Talavera. Sebastiani's army had by then joined Victor, and King Joseph had brought up the last reserves from Madrid, so the French now greatly outnumbered the British. The battle was a most bloody one. It lasted two days, and there were over twelve thousand killed and wounded. Victor refused to believe that the British line could not be broken and sent his columns against it again and again. 'The line held, and Wellesley won a resounding victory, but he was robbed of its fruits by the hopeless incompetence of his allies, so he swore that never again would he operate with Spanish troops unless they were under his command.

Madrid might still possibly have fallen to the British had not Wellesley learned that Soult, reinforced by Mortier's corps, was moving up from Galicia with the intention of cutting his communications. His army was so exhausted that it could not fight another battle; so he was compelled to beat a hasty retreat into Portugal.

In the late summer and autumn, Spanish forces continued, in widely separated areas, to engage the French, but Wellesley who in September was, for his victories, created Baron Douro and Viscount Wellington flatly refused to commit British troops with them; so their gallant efforts were defeated again and again.

Although the French were being harried everywhere, Napoleon's war with Austria being as good as over, he was pouring more and more troops into the Peninsula; so Wellington, fearing that his much smaller army would be driven into the sea, retired on Lisbon and began to construct across the neck of the isthmus on which it stood the afterwards famous lines of Torres Vedras. These were not mere entrenchments, but solid earthworks, strengthened by palisades. The first line was twenty-nine and the second twenty-two miles in length. They included one hundred and twenty-six redoubts and were defended by four hundred and twenty-seven pieces of artillery.

Meanwhile, in the south Soult had taken Seville and Napoleon sent Massena, who had the reputation of being the most able of all his Marshals, to command the army in Portugal. Fortunately for Wellington, the Emperor decreed that the assault on Lisbon should not begin until every man he could spare had crossed the Pyrenees. This gave the British a seven month respite to prepare their great defensive wall. Moreover, during these months, Wellington was able to take other valuable measures. These included the embodiment and training of many regiments of Portuguese, and securing the consent of the Portuguese Government to render central Portugal a desolate wilderness. Its towns and villages were all evacuated, the peasants taking to the mountains and the townsfolk brought into Lisbon.

By the summer of 1810 there were three hundred and seventy thousand French troops in the Peninsula, and in August Massena invaded Portugal with one hundred thousand of them. But, before advancing on Lisbon, he delayed to besiege and capture several fortresses. When he at length approached the capital, he found the British deployed in a strong position outside it at Busaco, for Wellington had decided that if he could fight a successful action it would greatly strengthen the morale of his own men and the Portuguese people. Massena, who had never before encountered the British, imagined he would have an easy victory but, to his amazement, in a short, sharp battle, his assault columns were driven back with heavy losses. Well satisfied, on October 11th, Wellington withdrew his army behind the lines of Torres Vedras.

Massena, having reconnoitered these tremendous defences, reluctantly decided that they were too strong to be forced; so he withdrew his men and settled down to besiege Lisbon. But he soon had cause to become extremely worried. For scores of miles round, there was not a head of cattle or a bale of hay, and only a trickle of supplies could reach him, because every convoy was attacked by the Spanish insurgents. During those winter months he was losing hundreds of men a day through harassing raids and snipers, and his men were becoming weak from near starvation.

Such was the situation when Roger arrived in Lisbon.

That afternoon he called at the British Legation and was received by the Minister, the Rt. Hon. Sir Charles Stuart. Roger was surprised to find in so important a post such a youngish man, for the Minister was only a little over thirty; but he proved very pleasant and, when Roger had told him his reason for coming to Lisbon, at once promised to put him in touch with the Legation lawyer.

Then, after Roger had given him the latest news from London, he invited him to dine the following evening.

Next day, Roger waited on Lord Wellington, whom he had met several years before in India. When he handed Wellington the letter from his brother, the General read it, then gave him an appraising look and said:

'The Marquis informs me that you have a dual identity, that you have spent many years on the Continent as one of Bonaparte's A.D.C.S and have supplied our Government with much valuable information. I recall now that when I went out to India I was charged to deliver a confidential letter to you from Mr. Pitt, and at the time I registered the fact that you must be a man of some importance. I would be greatly interested if you would care to tell me something of your activities while with the French.'

For over half an hour Roger spoke of the strange career that had led to his becoming a Commander of the Legion of Honour, a Count and known throughout the French Army as le brave Breuc'.

Wellington listened fascinated and when Roger had done said, 'Mr. Brook, it is evident that your facilities for obtaining information of the highest order are unique. I take it that you have met Marshal Massena?'

'Yes, my lord, on numerous occasions. Davout apart, I regard him as the cleverest of all Napoleon's Generals, and his record makes him even more outstanding.'

'As you know, he is at present laying siege to us here in Lisbon; or, rather, he thinks he is. But in fact it is we who are besieging him. Our defences are secure and to us the seas are open, so we'll never lack for reinforcements or supplies. Whereas he, poor devil, is encamped in open country and surrounded by a sea of enemies. The number of his troops is dwindling daily, few convoys get through to him so he must be becoming desperate. Soon now he must take a decision. Either he must throw everything he has got into a forlorn hope by an attack on our lines, or retire into country where he can secure supplies for his famished troops. My information about enemy troop movements could not be bettered, because every Portuguese man, woman and child is for us and against him. Daily I receive reports of every foray he sends out, even down to a troop of horse. But what I have no means of discovering is what course of action he contemplates taking when he no longer dare remain inactive, watching his army disintegrate. In his letter my brother says that you have no wish to resume your old activities. But, by going to Massena, you could obtain this invaluable information for me. Will you not place me greatly in your debt by doing so?'

Roger smiled. 'My lord, I pray you to excuse me. 'Tis a highly dangerous game, and I have been monstrous lucky to survive for so long. I am here only to lay claim to an estate that I have inherited. Once that is settled, I am determined to return to England.'

"Very well, Mr. Brook.' Wellington stood up to indicate that the interview was over. 'I appreciate your point of view. But in Portugal, as in most other countries, decisions by the courts are apt to be long delayed. You do not strike me as a man who takes kindly to idleness. So, should you become bored here, perhaps you will reconsider my request. In the meantime, if there is any way in which I can be of service to you, you have only to let me know.'

Having thanked him, Roger took his leave and went out to renew his acquaintance with the city.

That evening at the Legation, the Minister presented him to his wife and niece. Lady Stuart was a large, imposing lady who, at first sight appeared formidable, but Roger found her to be a most kindly soul. Her niece, Deborah, lived with them because her own mother was dead. She was a tall, thin, dark girl and by no means a beauty which, no doubt, accounted for her shy, retiring manner.

At dinner eighteen people sat down at the long table. On one side Roger had a fat, much bejeweled lady who was the wife of a Portuguese General, on the other a girl whom he judged to be about nineteen. When he had been presented to her, he had learned that she was Lady Mary Ware. After they had exchanged a few remarks, she told him that she was a friend of Deborah Stuart's, and she had been invited out to spend the winter at the Legation.

She had a very small, but shapely figure. Her hair was brown and her eyes green. Above them, well-marked eyebrows that turned up slightly at the ends gave her a somewhat perky, quizzical expression, and this was strengthened by a slightly retrousse nose. What she lacked in size she made up for in vivacity, and Roger soon found her a most entertaining companion. When he had told her what had brought him to Lisbon and that he expected to be there for several weeks with nothing to do, she said:

Then, Mr. Brook, if you do not find the society of young females too boring, you must accompany Deborah and myself on some of our drives, for all our officers are always occupied with their duties, and the company of a gentleman would be very pleasant for us.'

He politely accepted her offer, although at the time he was not greatly attracted by the idea of acting as escort to two young women who could not long ago have left school.

Next morning he went to see the Legation lawyer, a Mr. Herbert Lessor, and put the matter of the de Pombal estate in his hands. In the afternoon he went for a stroll and, by chance, saw Lady Mary and Deborah Stuart in their carriage. Lady Mary waved to him, had the carriage pull up and invited him to join them. Having nothing to do, he assented and spent a pleasant hour in their company.

Deborah proved as shy and tongue-tied as she had in company, so it was Mary who did most of the talking. In fact, she was a born chatterbox and Roger found her chatter amusing. In consequence, when she asked him to come for another drive with them the next day, he readily agreed. From then on, except when it rained, it became a regular thing for him to accompany them on their drives through the deep enclave of pleasant country that lay inland from Lisbon, but inside the lines, or take them shopping; and, being completely at a loose end, he found it both a pleasant and novel occupation to squire two young girls. Sometimes they were accompanied by the buxom and sanguine Lady Stuart, but on most afternoons she was busy with her many charities: comforts for the wounded, assistance to widows of soldiers killed in the war, Anglo-Portuguese friendship and so on.

Naturally he told them nothing of his past secret activities, but he was able to regale them with tales of his early days in France, as a lawyer's apprentice, and of his travels in Egypt, India, Brazil and the West Indies, to which they listened wide-eyed, and they were greatly flattered to have secured such a handsome and interesting man of his years as their cavalier.

He soon learned Lady Mary's history. Her family was an old one, having first been ennobled during the Wars of the Roses, and later elevated to an earldom by Charles II. But her great-grandfather had been ruined in 1720 by the South Sea Bubble. For the past ninety years the family had lived very simply on a small property near Maidenhead. Mary herself was an only child and an orphan. Her mother had died in giving birth to her, and her father the previous year. On his death, the Maidenhead property had passed, with the title, to a distant; cousin: a Canon of Peterborough Cathedral, who was man of no fortune and had a large family of his own, could do little for her. In consequence, she was very badly off, with only a small income, which she was now ekeing out by staying for long periods with friends such as Deborah, whom she had known at the Seminary for Young Ladies at which she had been educated. But, in spite of her straitened circumstances and inability to afford expensive clothes, she was always cheerful and faced her uncertain future with courage.

During the fortnight after he first met the girls, as well as seeing them in the daytime, he twice dined at the Legation and saw them several times at receptions and dances in other houses.

It was on the 13th February that, after a drive on a pleasant sunny afternoon, he was handing them from the carriage outside the Legation, when he suddenly caught sight of de Queircoz. With him at the foot of the Legation steps were two Portuguese guardas. Suddenly pointing at Roger, de Queircoz cried:

'That is he! Seize him and he shall answer for the death of the Marquis de Pombal'

12

He Who Laughs Last

Dumbfounded, Roger stared at the dark browed diplomat. After a moment his brain again began to function. The Marquis had died in distant Brazil, but evidently on the return of his sister, the Senhora de Arahna, particulars of his death had become known in Lisbon, and de Queircoz knew, or thought he knew, who had killed him. But why should he be the person to accuse Roger? And why had he left his post in London to return to Lisbon? That could be explained by his having come to the conclusion that Colonel de Breuc and Roger Brook were the same person. The strong resemblance of the two, together with the fact that it was the Colonel who had captured Lisala's affections in Teheran, and Mr. Brook who ad later married her, were ample grounds for such a belief.

Within seconds Roger had solved the riddle. On meeting him in London de Queircoz had seen an opportunity to be avenged. He had dangled the de Pombal inheritance as bait, Roger had swallowed it, and his enemy had obtained leave so that he could follow Roger to Lisbon and denounce him. Yet Roger had a feeling that behind the jealous malice of the Portuguese lay the still greater malevolence of Lisala's evil spirit seeking his destruction.

To have been tried and condemned for murder in Prussia had been ordeal enough. His life had been saved by Davout only at the eleventh hour, and his rescue from a prison van by rioting students had been a piece of unforeseeable good fortune. To be tried again, only eight months later, for another murder he had not committed, seemed an outrageous injustice. And this time he would not be so lucky. The de Pombal family had great influence and the sympathies in a law court would be with them. Knowing how black a case could be made against him, he felt that once in the hands of the Portuguese his fate would be as good as sealed.

There was only one course open to him. It was to fight his way into the British Legation and seek sanctuary there.

His resolution was taken within half a minute of de Queircoz having called on the guardas to seize him. The taller guarda produced a warrant, stepped up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Roger gave him a violent shove that sent him reeling back, then darted toward the steps leading up to the door of the Legation. Before he could reach them the other guarda had flung his arms round his waist and had him in a bear-like hug. Exerting all his strength, Roger strove to free himself, and bashed with his fists at the man's head, but he buried his face in Roger's chest and gamely clung on. In desperation, Roger kneed him in the groin. His eyes popped, he gave a yelp of agony and relaxed his hold. But, only an instant after he had pushed the man away, his arms were seized from behind. The taller guarda had come to his companion's assistance. In vain Roger kicked out backward, his heels failed to find a mark and his arms were forced behind his back.

Even as his heart sank at the realization that his bid to escape capture had failed, help came from an unexpected quarter. Little Mary ran forward, shouting, 'Desist, fellow! How dare you lay hands on a Englishman!' Then, lifting her parasol, she jabbed it over Roger's shoulder at the guarda's face.

The iron ferrule caught him on the cheek, ripping the skin up toward the side of his left eye. With an oath, he let Roger go and clapped his hand to the wound, from which blood was flowing freely.

Roger lost not an instant and again dashed for the steps. The man he had kneed in the groin was crouching in the gutter, retching, and incapable of making any attempt to stop him. But de Queircoz swiftly stepped into his path. Drawing back his fists, Roger feinted with his right, then with his left hit the Portuguese a terrific blow on the side of the jaw. His head jerked back, his knees gave way, and he collapsed in a heap on the lowest step. Next moment Roger had jumped over him, mounted the rest of the flight and come to a halt, panting, just inside the Legation doorway.

The two girls ran up and joined him. Mary, her green eyes bright with excitement, asked, 'Is it really true that you killed the Marquis de Pombal?'

'No,' he panted. 'No, but it might prove devilish hard for me to prove that I did not. And… bless you… Mary, for your courage. Had you not come so bravely to my rescue I… would shortly have found myself in a Portuguese prison, and heaven only knows if I'd ever have got out of it, except to be marched to a scaffold. If His Excellency is in, I must see him at once and explain to him my situation.'

Five minutes later, the three of them were with the Minister in his study. When he had been told of the scene that had just occurred outside the Legation, Roger said:

'This is a very different legacy left to me by my late wife. As Your Excellency knows, she was the Marquis de Pombal's daughter. I accompanied her family when the Prince Regent fled to Brazil and, for a short while, shared a house with them in Rio. For some time past, Lisala had been my mistress. I had asked the Marquis for permission to marry her but he refused it and desired me to find some other lodging, because he felt that my constantly being in Lisala's company would prejudice his securing for her a husband from among the Portuguese nobility.

'I moved to an inn. After that it became impossible for Lisala and me to continue our affair. As there seemed no hope of our situation improving, and life in Rio was' more uncongenial than I can possibly describe, at length I decided to return to England in a British frigate which had arrived in the harbour. I received, at that juncture, a message from Lisala, saying that she was enceinte and that unless I came to her assistance, she would be condemned to spend the remainder of her life in a convent.

'Since I believed her to be carrying my child, I could not possibly abandon her; so I decided to carry her off and made use of the Marquis' head Negro slave, one Baob, as a go-between, to arrange our elopement. At night I went out to the house where the de Pombal’s were living. With Baob's help I got a tall ladder up to the window of Lisala's room. Just as I reached the sill the Negro betrayed me and roused the house by shouting, "Thieves! Thieves!"

'Lisala was ready dressed and waiting for me. The slave's outcry awakened her duenna, the Senhora Cristina de Jahlo, who slept in the next room. She came running in to us. Lisala was subject to the most violent fits of temper and was completely unscrupulous in getting her own way. She had long hated the old woman, so sprang upon her and, when she fell to the ground, began to batter in her face. I pulled her off and out into the corridor. The Marquis then appeared upon the scene, sword in hand, with his sister, the Senhora de Arahna, behind him. Furiously Lisala shouted at them, revealing that I had long been her lover and that she was carrying my child.

'Horrified, the Senhora fainted and the Marquis made a savage lunge at me. I parried the thrust, and we fought silently for maybe two minutes. Suddenly my ankle was gripped and pulled from under me. It was the old duenna who had crawled from Lisala's room, and thrust an arm past her feet without her being aware of it. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Next moment the Marquis was towering over me, his sword pointing downward, about to drive it through my heart. I squirmed aside. The point of the blade buried itself in the floor. He then flung himself down on me and endeavored to strangle me. For a few moments I struggled desperately with him. Then suddenly he went limp. I thought he had had a seizure of the heart. But, as I staggered to my feet, I saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back. With her stiletto, Lisala had stabbed her father to death.'

'Merciful God, how awful!' Mary exclaimed.

Sir Charles nodded. ' 'Twas parricide, the most terrible of all crimes. Do you give us your word, Mr. Brook, that this is the absolute truth about how de Pombal died?'

'I do, Your Excellency. 'Tis the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. To that I swear. Lisala's face was a living lie. A beautiful mask behind which lay the most evil mind I have ever encountered. I am convinced now that her act was inspired only by her determination not to allow herself to be incarcerated in a nunnery. But, at the time, I was very conscious that by her deed she had saved my life. So, having got her safely aboard the frigate, next morning, though with reluctance, rather than cast aside a woman carrying, as I thought, my child, I had the captain of the frigate marry us. As I feel sure I told you early in our acquaintance, she died some sixteen months ago.'

'In view of her nature as you describe it, I cannot feel that is a matter for condolence,' the Minister remarked gravely. 'But this other business troubles me, and we must discuss it with our lawyer. I will send for Mr. Lessor and also send a lackey to collect your belongings from the inn where you have been lying. Meanwhile you will, of course, dine with us and I will order a bedroom to be prepared for you.'

Roger stood up and bowed. 'I am indeed grateful to Your Excellency for your kindness, and deeply regret that I should have become a cause of trouble to you.'

Dinner, to which fewer than a dozen people sat down an hour later, proved a far from gay meal, as everyone present had heard some version of the attempt to arrest Roger for murder.

Soon after they had finished, Mr. Lessor arrived and went into conference with Roger and the Minister. When Roger had again given an account of the Marquis' death, the lawyer said, 'Mr. Brook, you have my sympathy for it seems that a case very difficult to disprove could be made against you. And, should you be indicted on a capital charge, I should have to advise His Excellency that, under international law, he would not be within his rights to continue to give you sanctuary here. However, as de Queircoz played no part in the affair, you could be convicted only on the evidence of the Senhora de Arahna and the duenna. I am already in touch with the de Pombal family's lawyers with regard to the inheritance. They are a firm of high repute and fortunately well known to me. Tomorrow morning I will see them and find out if they have received instructions from the Senhora to take proceedings against you.'

Roger spent an uneasy night, then waited with impatience until Mr. Lessor arrived the following midday, to report to him and the Minister the result of his interview with the de Pombal’s' lawyers.

The Senhora de Arahna had sent for the head of the firm three days before. De Queircoz had just arrived from London with the news that Roger had left there for Lisbon, and was with her. Holding Roger responsible for her brother's death, the Senhora naturally wished to be avenged. She had admitted, however, that she had not actually seen him deliver the fatal stroke, but said that the duenna, Dona Christina, had done so and would give evidence to that effect.

At that point Roger broke in to say, 'Then the old woman will be committing perjury. And the reason she has agreed to do so is not far to seek. I gathered that she had dissipated any fortune she ever had, and is entirely dependent on the de Pombal’s. 'Tis clear that she is being bribed to bear false witness.'

'You may well be right,' Mr. Lessor agreed. 'But, in view of the extremely strong circumstantial evidence against you, Mr. Brook, should that be supported by her testimony I greatly fear we can have little hope of securing a verdict of "not guilty".'

'Think you it would be possible to get hold of the duenna,' Roger suggested, 'and offer her a much larger bribe to tell the truth?'

'I could not undertake to do so personally, but I might arrange for her to be approached by a third party. I doubt not, too, that money lies at the root of this affair. The Senhora de Arahna stands to gain much more than revenge by your death. Her application made on her return from Brazil for her son, the present Marquis, to inherit, was disallowed by the courts; but with yourself out of the way he would come into the whole of the de Pombal patrimony.'

Then I pray you, Sir, engage a go-between to approach Dona Cristina. When the killing took place I was lying on the ground with the Marquis on top of me; so she could not possibly have failed to see my late wife drive the stiletto into her father's back. Promise the old woman anything in reason to withdraw the statement they say she is prepared to make

'Ahem!' the lawyer coughed. 'I-er-hesitate to raise the question, Mr. Brook, but I count it improbable that she could be induced to earn the opprobrium of the de Pombal family unless she was assured of receiving a very substantial sum, and the odds are that she would require to be paid in cash. Have you large funds readily available here in Lisbon?'

'No,' Roger replied, 'but I am possessed of a moderate fortune, and could have the money required transferred from London.'

Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Mr. Lessor said, 'For any ordinary transaction that would serve. But in this we are circumscribed by time, and I doubt if I could get your draft discounted before the end of the week. Then the negotiations with the duenna might take another week or more. Meanwhile, if the authorities request His Excellency to surrender your person, he can hardly refuse to do so.'

'They have already made that request,' Sir Charles put in. 'I received it at eight o'clock this morning. To gain a few hours for Mr. Brook, I replied that I could not comply until I had consulted our lawyers. But the Portuguese are our allies. They have the law on their side, and it is my duty to maintain good relations with them. I feel, therefore, that unless the matter can be settled within the next twenty-four hours, I shall have no alternative but to hand Mr. Brook over.'

'I am grateful to Your Excellency for having secured me that much grace,' Roger said, 'but in so short a time I see little hope of our buying over the duenna. Once I have been arrested, the case will go forward and our chance of persuading her to retract become very much more slender. It seems the only course open to me is to leave the Legation tonight and endeavour to get aboard a ship that will carry me to England.'

The Minister shook his head. 'I fear you will not find that possible. The Legation is under observation by guardas. And, as your enemies are people of influence, they will no doubt have pressed the authorities to have others watching for you on the docks.'

Roger remained silent for a moment, then he said, 'May I impose on Your Excellency's good nature by asking you to send a note to General Lord Wellington informing him of my situation? As it is impossible for me to go to him, I pray you request him to come here sometime this evening; so that, before I am arrested, I may confide to him a matter of considerable importance.'

Sir Charles having readily agreed to oblige Roger, the conference broke up.

Somehow Roger got through the rest of the day, spending most of it in the company of the two girls. Both showed great concern for him. Deborah, who was deeply religious, said she would pray for him several times each day while he was in prison. Mary, who was of a more practical turn of mind, urged him to attempt to escape arrest, and proposed that they should smuggle him out of the back of the Legation in a large hamper. But, even had the Minister consented to risk becoming compromised by lending himself to such a plan, to take the hamper down to a ship would be certain to arouse the suspicions of the guarda, who would insist on having it opened.

Neither of the girls could suggest anywhere else to which it could profitably be taken. Roger, however, had his own ideas about that, although he was not prepared to disclose them for the moment.

Lord Wellington did not arrive until after dinner. In the Minister's study, over a decanter of port, he was informed more fully of Roger's situation, then Sir Charles tactfully left them alone together.

When the door had closed, the tall General ran a finger down his big, high-bridged nose, smiled and said, 'So, Mr, Brook, you are, after all, going to make an expedition into enemy-held territory.'

Roger smiled back. 'I might have known, my lord that you would have guessed why I should have taken the liberty of requesting you to come here. Although I am innocent of the deed of which I am accused, I see no hope of proving that. Since to save my life I must leave Lisbon and tonight, the only sure method of doing so that presents itself is for me to ask your aid to cross the lines, and there resume my French identity.'

'And then?'

'I could make my way to any of a dozen places on the French held coast and thence have a smuggler run me across to England. But if I do that, I'll still have this charge hanging over my head should I ever return to Portugal, and a time may come when I'll wish to do so, Moreover I am loath to leave the field to these people who have sought to entrap me. There is a possibility that, given a month or so, Mr. Lessor may be able to secure me a clean bill. If so, I could return to Lisbon and claim my inheritance.'

'And during this month or so?'

'Doubtless I could make my way into Spain and there lie low. But since I must spend it in enemy-held territory, 'twould be unpatriotic of me not to take the opportunity of serving your lordship; so I'll go to Massena's headquarters.'

'Ah! There speaks the man I had supposed you to be,' Wellington stood up and patted Roger on the shoulder. 'It remains then only for us to decide how you can be removed from here."

'This afternoon, Lady Mary Ware suggested that I

should be smuggled out in a big hamper; although, of course, knowing nothing of my secret activities, she could think of no place to which I could then be taken.'

After a moment's thought Wellington said, 'I like it not. The agents watching the house might suspect you to be in the hamper. You are tall to pass as a woman, but could do so in darkness. And, if you left the Embassy on my arm, no policeman would dare challenge you.'

Roger laughed. 'I'll count it an honour, my lord, to have you as my cavalier.'

Within an hour, final arrangements had been made. Roger signed a draft on Hoare's Bank for five thousand pounds which Mr. Lessor would discount, then do his best to win over the duenna. Next day the Minister was to inform the Portuguese authorities that, during the night, Roger had left the Legation without anyone being aware of how he had done so, and send a sum of money as compensation to the guarda whom Mary had wounded with her parasol. Lady Stuart who, fortunately, was a tall woman, provided Roger with female attire and unearthed from the attic a long discarded wig. Tittering, the girls helped him to pad out his chest. At nine o'clock, he took an affectionate leave of them and expressed his gratitude to the Stuarts. Lord Wellington's carriage was driven up, his mounted escort called to attention and Roger, stooping to disguise his height, left the Legation on the General's arm.

Twenty minutes later, Roger's clothes and belongings were sent after him to Wellington's headquarters. After he had changed, he spent two hours in conference with the General. Massena, having remained for a month before the lines of Torres Vedras and decided that they were too strong to justify an assault, had retired to the town of Santarem, some twenty miles north-east of Lisbon, and his army was encamped about it. The country between had then become a no-man's-land, on which vedettes of British cavalry occasionally had brief encounters with troops of French, seeking, generally in vain, for hidden supplies left behind by the peasantry. Owing to Wellington's scorched-earth policy, it was almost uninhabited; but, here and there, Portuguese continued to live secretly in caves and barns, as postboxes through which news of enemy movements could swiftly be transmitted to the British. On a large scale map, the General pointed out to Roger half a dozen of these hide outs, and gave him the password by which their occupants would know him to be a friend.

Then he said:

'Massena will be certain to question you about the state of things in Lisbon. Without going into details, tell him the truth. That not only has my own army been greatly reinforced during the winter months but I have also embodied, trained and armed, many thousands of Portuguese, and I am very pleased with them. The first regiments I formed participated in our clash with Massena at Busaco. They stood up well to the assault and had good reason to be proud of themselves.

'It will then be for Massena to take the decision to which the starving condition of his army is driving him nearer every day. Should he decide to gamble everything on an all out attack, I'll let him come right up to our lines, then tear him to pieces with my artillery. If, on the other hand, he elects to fall back into Spain, I want to be ready to follow him with all possible speed and hope to trounce him thoroughly in the open field.'

Having promised to do his utmost to obtain this information, Roger was provided with a horse and one of the General's A.D.C.S who would see him through the lines and accompany him for the first few miles of his journey.

Well before dawn they were outside the lines. In a village not far distant the A.D.C. took him to a half ruined church, in the crypt of which the priest, Father Joao, had concealed himself to act as one of the intelligence post-boxes. Two miles further on, they stopped at a small wood, in the centre of which a farmer named Leandro had dug himself a hide-out for the same purpose. After a third visit, this time to a cave occupied by several men, the A.D.C left him.

For what remained of the morning Roger rode on through the desolate countryside, and it was not until he was nearing Santarem that he encountered a troop of French Chasseurs. On his hailing them in French, they galloped up to him and he asked their officer to be taken to the Marshal Prince d'Essling. His accent being perfect, the officer had no doubts about his nationality, and sent him with a sergeant and two troopers to Massena's headquarters.

When he arrived it was getting on well into the afternoon. In a mansion in the centre of the town, he found the Marshal and his staff about to sit down to dinner. Massena was then fifty-five; but evidently the strain of conducting his present campaign had aged him considerably, as Roger thought he looked very much older than when he had last seen him some two years earlier. His appearance was not improved by a black eye-patch he had to wear owing to an accident while on a shoot at Fontainebleau, in which Napoleon had shot him in one eye.

He was greatly surprised to see Roger and the more so because he was in civilian clothes, as he had assumed that Roger had brought him a dispatch from the Emperor; but he at once invited him to join them at dinner and, sitting next to him while eating a meagre meal, Roger gave a slightly edited account of how he came to be in Santarem.

He described how the Emperor had sent him on a mission to Davout in north Germany, how he had been accused of a murder that he had not committed, and his only means of getting away had been to board an American vessel that was sailing for England. He then reverted to his old story, already known to several of the officers present, about his mother having been English, although he had been born in Strasbourg; how, on her death, he had been sent to be brought up by an aunt in Hampshire until, fired by the news of the Revolution, he had returned to France to enlist and how he had since revisited England several times on Napoleon's secret business, without anyone there realising that he had become a Colonel in the French Army. His English relatives believed that he spent a great part of his time travelling in the East, so had welcomed his recent return, but to maintain that fiction he had had to spend several months there. Then, when he felt that no one would be surprised at his going abroad again, he had secured a passage to Lisbon as the easiest way of getting back to the Continent and his master.

Told with all Roger's flair as a raconteur, the story was highly plausible, so accepted by all those present without question.

After the meal, Massena carried him off to his office and, as soon as they were seated, asked:

'How long were you in Lisbon?'

'It was the best part of a month,' Roger replied, 'before I felt that I had been there long enough for my stay to be accounted an ordinary visit; and, before leaving, I laid a false trail by taking passage in a Portuguese ship bound for Madeira.'

'Then you had ample time to assess the present strength there of the English?'

'I did indeed, mon Prince. You may be sure I kept my eyes well open.'

'Tell me, then, all you can about them.'

Roger obliged and spent the next half-hour giving particulars of the very considerable army Wellington had under him.

When he had done, the Marshal said, 'Tell me now about milord Wellington. What sort of a man is he, and how do his troops regard him?'

'He is a tall man with blue eyes and a thin, very high-bridged nose. When he speaks it is with a very slight lisp. But he is not a great talker, although he can be convivial at times. At least, he used to be. When I first met him in India, we had a mutual friend one William Hickey and at his house, with several others, we were wont to punish the Bordeaux pretty heavily.

'Milord Wellington, the Emperor and myself are of the same age: all born in '69. He comes of an Irish family, or rather an English one that has long been settled in Ireland. Such families form the aristocracy there. Not one such as we had in France before the Revolution, but, I am told, similar to that in the Southern States of America. They have big houses and are boundlessly hospitable, but lack elegance, being greatly given to country pursuits. They regard the native Irish much as the Americans do their Negro slaves; and, indeed, the poor wretches are little better off.

'The Irish milord’s are also, by English standards, poor. The General was the sixth child of the Earl of Mornington. The Earl's passion was music, and he squandered his small fortune giving and financing concerts. His whole family thought of little else. Milord Wellington was devoted to his violin; but not long after he entered the Army he decided that his love of playing, absorbed much too much of his time, so he burned his fiddle.

'The eldest son, Richard, now the Marquess Wellesley, was the bright child of the family. Their father died when Arthur, that is the General, was twelve, and left his widow very badly off. Richard scraped enough money together to send Arthur to Eton, but only for about two years.’ Eton? What is that?' Massena enquired.

'It is England's most famous public school, and for many generations a large part of the nobility have been educated there. On leaving Eton, Arthur's mother took him with her to Brussels. While there, I gather, the tutoring he received was patchy and indifferent. He was then sent on his own to an academy at Angers, where little was taught except riding, fencing and dancing. But the young nobles who studied there were made free of the great houses, such as those of the Dues de Brissac and de Praslin. It was in such society that he acquired his polish and unfailing good manners.'

'Bah!' Massena exclaimed, and turned to spit into a spittoon. 'And that while youngsters like myself were leading a dog's life, half-starved and beaten, as cabin boys. But proceed.'

Roger smiled. 'Your Highness will have even more cause to disapprove of the next few years in milord's career. At eighteen, his brother bought him a commission in the 73rd; a Highland regiment. But he did not remain in it for long. Through influence he got himself transferred from regiment to regiment, with a step up each time. He rose from Ensign to Lieutenant Colonel in seven years, and during the whole of this time neither saw active service nor spent more than a week or two on a barrack square. He lived in Dublin, as an A.D.C. to the Lord Lieutenant and sat in the Irish Parliament.'

The frown on Massena's sallow face deepened. 'Such a system is iniquitous. But how, after such a poor education and those years of idleness did he ever become a successful General?'

'It was, I think, the campaign of '94 that made him. You will recall that the English invaded the Low Countries. Milord took his regiment on that expedition.

I've no need to remind Your Highness how hopelessly incompetent as a General is their Duke of York. Ill-directed, administered by idle nitwits, constantly short of supplies and with the troops totally uncared for, the army floundered about for a while, then retreated into Holland. The winter there that year was terrible. The troops were in rags, starving and dying from intense cold.'

'Enough! Enough! We have been suffering similar hardships here. My men are dying daily by the hundred. But not from lack of thought for them. 'Tis this accursed country and the myriad of brigands who prevent all but a trickle of supplies from reaching me. Ah, well. Go on now.'

'It was, I am told, this disastrous campaign that led to milord Wellington's becoming what he is today. He realised that success in war depended on healthy, well-fed troops. A great part of his time is spent in ensuring that his men lack for nothing. In consequence they adore him, are always in a condition to fight well, and when called on to make an extra effort never fail him.

'All through his youth his income was insufficient for him to support his position. In '96 his debts became so burdensome that, to escape his creditors, he went to India. There fortune favoured him. In the meantime his clever brother, Richard, had risen to a high position in the Government. In '98 he arrived in Calcutta as Governor General. It was he who fought the Mysore war against Tippoo Sahib. Wellington treated his Sepoy troops with the same fatherly care as his British regiments. Although still a junior commander he was responsible for the success of the campaign and, afterwards, won high praise for his administration of the conquered territory. There followed the Mahratta war, in which he achieved striking victories at Assaye and Argaou. Richard had already been rewarded by being raised in the peerage to Marquess Wellesley. In 1804 the General received his knighthood and returned to England. In 1807 he commanded the troops in the successful operation against Copenhagen. In 1808 he was sent to Portugal and Your Highness will be aware of his activities while in the Peninsula.' '

'I am. Only too well. And of the new tactics he was introduced, which have so bedevilled us. Victor was the first of our Marshals to encounter them. At Talavera he twice sent his massed columns against the British line, only to be repulsed with terrible loss. Both King Joseph and Jourdan urged him to break off the battle, but he insisted on a third assault, only to meet with a shattering defeat. The fire power of those redcoats in line is devastating, and Wellington's other innovation of having his battalions form squares when about to be attacked by cavalry would break the heart of even Murat.'

Massena then asked what Roger intended to do, to which he replied, 'My obvious duty is to report back to the Emperor as soon as possible. But I confess, even though I speak fluent Spanish and some Portuguese, I dread the thought of attempting to make my way through the murderous brigands who infest this country.'

'You would be mad to do so. In it every hand is against us. Even those of the children.' The Marshal shuffled among the papers in his desk, drew one out and went on:

'Just listen to this. It is a translation of a catechism that the Spanish priests make the children learn by heart:

'Question. Child, what art thou?

Answer. A Spaniard, by the grace of Cod.

Q. What do you mean by that?

A. An honest man.

Q. Who is our enemy?

A. The Emperor of the French.

Q. What is the Emperor Napoleon?

A. A wicked being, the source of all evils and the focus of all vices.

Q. How many natures has he?

A. Two; the human and the diabolical.

Q. How many Emperors of the French are there?

A. One actually, in three deceiving persons.

Q. What are they called?

A. Napoleon, Murat and Manuel Godoy, the Prince

of the Peace.

Q. Which is the most wicked?

A. They are all equally so.

Q. What are the French?

A. Apostate Christians, turned heretics.

Q. What punishment does a Spaniard deserve who fails in his duty?

A. The death and infamy of a traitor.

Q. Is it a sin to kill a Frenchman?

A. No, my father, heaven is gained by killing one of those heretical dogs.'

The Marshal laid the paper down. 'That shows you the hydra-headed monster to which we are opposed. If once it was discovered that you are a Frenchman, these fiends would roast and eat you. No, Breuc. You must stay here as one of my A.D.Cs. Since you understand their infernal tongue, you can be of use to me interrogating prisoners and translating captured documents.'

Roger agreed and thanked the Marshal. The interview being over, he then went off to find quarters and secure for himself a suitable uniform.

In the next few days he learned from his brother officers how matters had been going in other parts of Spain. There were several large Spanish armies and, whenever they joined battle with the French, they were always defeated. But the survivors faded away into the mountains where they re-formed to attack again; and they showed great courage in defending their cities, often refusing to surrender until half the citizens had been killed or wounded and a great part of the buildings reduced to rubble.

The previous autumn, Soult had invaded Andalusia. He now had his headquarters in Seville and had subdued the whole of southern Spain except for Cadiz. The red faced, self-opinionated, ex-drummer boy Victor was besieging it. But, as the city was situated at the end of a nine-mile long spit of land, without the assistance of a fleet there was little hope of taking it.

In the north-west Ney had earlier made a joint plan of campaign with Soult. When attacked by a large Spanish army, instead of coming to Ney's assistance, Soult had marched off to the south. Declaring that he had been betrayed and abandoned, Ney had evacuated Galicia and withdrawn his army into the plain of Leon. Thereupon the Emperor had ordered him home. A heartrending scene had followed, when Ney had had to say farewell to his famous Sixth Corps, which had been formed in 1804 at Boulogne as part of the Grande Armee that was to invade England, and which he had commanded ever since. But Ney was now back in Spain, commanding a corps under Massena, as also was Roger's old friend Androche Junot, Due d'Abrantes, who had failed so lamentably to hold Lisbon,

In the north-west, St. Cyr had been sent to subdue Catalonia. He had defeated the Spanish armies in the field, then laid siege to Gerona, the great fortress that blocked the eastern road through the Pyrenees from France to Spain. With great gallantry it had held out for six months. To take it cost the French twenty thousand men and when it did fall they were still harassed by clouds of enemies.

Angered by St. Cyr's lack of success, the Emperor had recalled him and sent Augereau to take over his command. Augerau had hung every Spaniard he could lay his hands on, in the hope of intimidating that rebellious people. His ruthless measures had proved useless. The Catalans continued to fight on and so many of the Marshal's enterprises failed that Napoleon had recalled him in disgrace and replaced him with Macdonald. But the Marshal who had recently won his baton at Wagram fared little better.

Only further south in Aragon had the French done well. In that province General Suchet had reduced the people to obedience by initiating a policy entirely contrary to that of all the other French Generals. He cleared the country of brigands, who blackmailed the peasantry into maintaining them, paid a fair price for everything, he commandeered, suppressed corruption, refused to allow King Joseph to steal works of art in that part of Spain, gave Spaniards a say in local government, began to rebuild Saragossa, restored its bullring and endowed hospitals and orphanages in the city.

But in every other part of Spain French armies were cut off, bogged down, half-starving and unceasingly harassed. Over three hundred thousand men were locked up there and only their numbers prevented their annihilation.

It was early on the morning of March 3rd that Massena called his senior officers together and glumly informed them that they must now face the fact that their campaign had proved a failure. He said that he had appealed again and again for reinforcements, which would have given him sufficient strength to break through the lines of Torres Vedras; but the Emperor had not sent them. An alternative hope had been that Marshal Soult would bring his army up from the south, so that they might combine in an attack on Lisbon; but Soult also had failed them. Massena then praised the extraordinary endurance his officers and men had shown all through the terrible winter months. Finally he said that, having been reduced to such straits, he could ask no further sacrifices of them, so he had decided to retreat and preparations were to be made to move in two days' time.

Roger had hoped to secure longer warning of the Marshal's intentions. Now, with less than forty-eight hours before the retreat began, it was imperative that he should get the news to Wellington with the minimum of delay. But he could not simply mount a horse and ride off toward Lisbon. He had to have a pretext for leaving the headquarters, and he had already thought of one which might serve the purpose.

After the meeting, Massena returned to his office. Roger followed him, asked permission to make a proposal and, on receiving it, said, 'Your Highness will naturally have foreseen that, as soon as milord Wellington learns that you are withdrawing, he will come out from Lisbon and fall upon our rearguard?'

'Of course,' replied the Marshal tartly. 'The man is not a fool.'

'No, and therefore, Marshal, he would not dare to throw his whole force into the pursuit if Marshal Soult was coming up from the south to take him in the rear.'

'True. And I would to God it were so; but it is not.'

'It might be, if you sent a dispatch to him, telling him of your difficult situation and asking for his help.'

Massena shrugged. 'The Due de Dalmatia has no love for me; otherwise he would have come to my assistance weeks ago. That apart, to ensure a dispatch reaching him I'd have to detach a whole regiment of cavalry as escort for my courier; and I've no mind to do that.'

'It could be attempted in another way,' Roger suggested. 'If I put off this uniform that was found for me and instead put on the civilian clothes in which I arrived here, by passing myself off to the Portuguese as a Spaniard, I believe I could get through.'

With his one eye, Massena stared at him. 'Then it is not without reason that people speak of you as le brave Breuc. Since you volunteer for this dangerous mission, I gladly accept your offer.' Dipping his feather pen in the inkpot, the Marshal at once set about writing a dispatch to Soult.

As Roger watched him, he was smiling to himself. The countryside for many miles outside Lisbon was under the observation of the British and their allies; so he had little to fear and, while he had on occasion acted with great courage, it was largely through such deceptions, when he was believed to be facing danger that did not exist, that lie had earned the soubriquet of le brave Breuc.

Half an hour later he was on his way, riding hard through the deserted no-man's-land. By midday, when he was within five miles of the lines of Torres Vedras he saw a vedette of British Lancers. Turning his horse toward them, he hailed their Captain and two minutes later said to him:

'Sir, I have information of the highest importance for milord Wellington. Marshal Massena is breaking camp and the day after tomorrow will begin his retreat. My horse is no longer in a state to travel fast. I pray you carry this news to Lisbon with all possible speed. Tell His Lordship that it comes from the man against whom the de Pombals threaten to bring an action. It is for that reason I do not want to enter the city. Be good enough also to tell him that I'll be found at the church of Father Joao not far from here, and that I am anxious to hear as soon as possible from Mr. Lessor, the Legation lawyer.'

The young Captain instantly realised the importance of the news. Telling his sergeant to carry on with the patrol and taking only an orderly with him, he set off at a gallop.

Now walking his horse, Roger covered the last mile to the church and, early in the afternoon, went through the ruin down into the crypt. Father Joao was there and made him welcome, producing a bottle of wine, bread and meat. Then, when Roger said that he would like to pass the night in the crypt, the chubby little priest took from a chest a palliasse for him to sleep on.

Tired after his ride, he slept until the evening, then joined his host in another meal. Soon afterwards, the A.D.C. who had first brought Roger there arrived, and with him was Mr. Lessor. The A.D.C. conveyed Wellington's warmest thanks for the valuable service Roger had rendered. Then Mr. Lessor took him apart and told him the result of his negotiations with the de Pombal lawyers.

Dona Cristina had flatly rejected the offer of a bribe, but it was possible that an accommodation could be arrived at with the Senhora de Arahna. She was prepared to withdraw the accusation if Roger would forego his inheritance in favour of her son, the new Marquis.

Roger did not hesitate for long. Until de Queircoz had drawn his attention to the fact that he was the heir to Lisala's fortune, that had not even occurred to him. He had ample money for his needs, so was not being called upon to face a crippling loss and, in any case, he had meant to make over the de Pombal estates to the family.

He therefore agreed. But, wary of falling into another trap, he said he would not enter Lisbon until the transaction had been concluded, and he wished to be present himself when the Senhora signed the document stating that she had now received proof that it was not he who had murdered her brother; so she and her lawyer must come out to the church and sign it there.

As she would not be in any danger so close to the lines, Mr. Lessor said he saw no reason why she should not do as Roger wished. He and the A.D.C. then rode back to Lisbon.

The following afternoon he returned, accompanied by the Senhora., de Queircoz and her lawyer. De Queircoz, having been robbed of his revenge, only bowed stiffly and regarded Roger with silent hostility; but the Senhora, having promised the duenna a handsome pension to lie, knew that Roger was innocent and she had succeeded in securing a great fortune for her son, so she greeted him very civilly.

When the terms of the documents were discussed, the Senhora pointed out that it was not sufficient for Roger to renounce the inheritance, since Lisala had been carrying his child. He must also do so on the child's behalf, as otherwise it would become the next heir.

Roger had already thought of that, so he agreed and had the deed drawn up to read that he renounced his claim on behalf of himself and the heirs of his body.

The papers were signed, witnessed and exchanged. Then, with a cynical little smile he bowed and said:

'Now, Senhora, I have some information for you which will, I fear, somewhat distress you. Lisala's child was duly born at Erfurt. It was a son. I took him and Lisala's old nurse back to Paris and made arrangements for their support and wellbeing at a farm outside the city.

'The boy was a fine, healthy infant so, no doubt, he still thrives there. As soon as it is possible to do so I will arrange for him and his nurse to come to you here in Lisbon. To spare you an unpleasant surprise at the child's appearance, I must now tell you that he is a black piccaninny. And with the best will in the world I am incapable of begetting a Negro.

'He is not my son. His father was your slave, Baob, to whom Lisala shamelessly gave herself when in Brazil. I have renounced the inheritance on behalf of myself and the heirs of my body. The boy is no heir of mine, but he is Lisala's. So he, and not your son, will now get the de Pombal fortune.'

13

The Forwardness of Lady Mary Ware

Furious at having been outwitted, the Senhora and her companions left the crypt. Shortly afterwards, having thanked Father Joao for his hospitality Roger, accompanied by Mr. Lessor, followed them back into Lisbon.

Although the village was less than two miles outside the lines, it took the best part of half an hour to reach them, because Wellington's army was at last leaving behind the great earthworks that, during the winter months, had served to protect it so well. Along the road advanced a steady stream of British and Portuguese infantry, guns, limbers, wagons and, behind each contingent, the little band of male and female camp-followers that all Generals detested, because they embarrassed troop movements, but could not get rid of without risking mutiny from their men.

As, time after time, Roger had to turn his mount aside on to the verge of the road, he noted with pleasure the greatly superior appearance of these troops to the ones he had left on the morning of the previous day. The uniforms of the French were threadbare, many of them had been wearing patched coats, broken boots and battered shakos. Their faces were thin from insufficient food and their eyes lacked lustre; whereas Wellington's men showed ample evidence of his care of them. Their uniforms were of good English cloth, with little sign of wear, their belts were pipe-clayed and their equipment brightly polished. They were ruddy-faced and in excellent health, owing to ample and regular rations. As they marched, they were singing or bandying jests.

Arrived at last in the city, Roger parted cordially with Mr, Lessor and headed for the Legation. As he approached it he was thinking how pleasant it would be to see little Lady Mary again, and it was only then that it crossed his mind that, during many of his idle moments while at Massena's headquarters, his thoughts had turned to her.

The Minister, his family and guests had just risen from dinner and were in the big salon. As Roger was announced, Mary was standing just inside the doorway. Her green eyes lighting up, she gave a cry of delight, impulsively ran forward, laid a hand on Roger's arm, went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.

Lady Stuart was nearby, talking to General Picton. Raising her eyebrows, she exclaimed not unkindly, 'Really, Mary! What unmaidenly behaviour.'

Mary's cheeks went scarlet. But Roger covered her confusion by crying gaily, ' 'Tis an occasion for kissing and rejoicing. I am now cleared of that false charge that was to have been brought against me.' Then he stepped up to the Minister's buxom wife and kissed her.

Next moment Sir Charles was shaking him heartily by the hand and saying, 'Mr. Lessor looked in on me this midday, to inform me that your affair was as good as settled. It must be a great relief and we are all delighted for you. But you were not in time for dinner, so must be hungry.' Looking quickly round, his eye lit on his niece and he said to her:

'Deborah, my dear, take Mr. Brook into the dining room and see that he is served with anything he fancies; then tell Smithson to have a room prepared for him for the night.'

Mary joined Deborah and Roger as they moved away. In the dining room the table had just been cleared, but the footmen were setting out a cold buffet on the sideboard for later in the evening. With a girl on either side of him, Roger tucked into a game pie and slices of York ham. It was the first good meal he had had since leaving Lisbon, and he happily contrasted it with the meagre fare at Massena's headquarters.

Between mouthfuls he answered the girls' eager questions. They had no idea that he had been on a secret mission, but supposed he had been lying low outside the lines while Mr. Lessor did his best to prevent a charge of murder from being brought against him. When he told them how it had been settled to the discomfiture of the de Pombals, they both went into gales of laughter.

On returning to the salon they found that Lord Wellington had come to take leave of the Minister, as on the following day he was to take the field against Massena.

On seeing Roger, he greeted him simply as an acquaintance whom he had not seen for some days. But ten minutes later, without being observed, he managed to wink at him, then turn his head in the direction of a small salon that led off the large one. Roger skillfully brought to an end a conversation he was having with a naval Captain and sauntered into the small room. As on most occasions when there was not a large party at the Legation, it was empty. Wellington joined him there, closed the door and said;

'Mr. Brook, I cannot thank you enough for the great service you have rendered us. Now I am anxious to have a long talk with you, as there must be much valuable information you can give me about the condition of Massena's army and other matters you must have become acquainted with while at his headquarters.'

Roger bowed. 'I had had it in mind, my lord, to write a full report tonight, and wait upon you with it in the morning.'

The General shook his fine head. Nay, I'd liefer have it from your own lips; for there are many questions I wish to ask you. I shall he leaving shortly. I pray you slip away soon after, and we'll drink a bottle of port in my private quarters."

Three quarters of an hour later, they were closeted in a small, map-lined study adjacent to Wellington's bedroom, a decanter of port between them. For half an hour Roger passed on all he had seen and heard whilst at Santarem, and another half-hour went by answering the questions the keen eyed General shot at him. At length, refilling their glasses for the third time, Wellington said:

'The parlous condition to which Massena's troops are reduced makes it tempting to launch an all-out attack in the hope of overwhelming them. But his regiments must still contain many hard-bitten veterans of Bonaparte's past campaigns. Even in adversity they can be counted on to put up a stiff resistance. Moreover, you tell me that Massena has Ney and Junot with him. The first is one of the most able Marshals and the other at least a courageous leader. So, in this case, discretion may prove the better part of valour. Britain has only one army in the Peninsula, whereas the French have six. Should I be defeated and driven into the sea, we'd be back again where we were in 1807, and Bonaparte the master of the whole continent. By following Massena up closely, we should be able to inflict heavy losses on him, with little loss to ourselves. That, I think, would be sounder than to risk facing him in a pitched battle.'

Roger smiled. 'I am no General, my lord; but in you and your army are Britain's one hope; so, had I your responsibility, that is certainly the course I would pursue.'

Nodding, Wellington said, 'And now, Mr. Brook, regarding yourself. You have been charged by Massena to carry a dispatch to Soult.'

'Oh, come, milord,' Roger laughed. 'Surely you do not expect me to deliver it? 'Tis an appeal for help and, if responded to, could seriously jeopardize your own plans.'

'True. But you tell me that Massena and Soult are bitterly jealous of each other, so it is unlikely that the latter will come to his colleague's aid. In any case, if it is not delivered for a week, it would be too late for him to intervene effectively.'

'What, then, is to be gained by delivering it at all?'

'It would provide a reason for your arriving at his headquarters.'

'My lord, Roger said with a frown. 'When we first talked of my former activities, I made it plain that I was most averse to risking my life again carrying out secret missions; so I pray you to excuse me.'

Wellington leaned forward, his bright eyes held Roger's and his voice was earnest. 'Mr. Brook, you have already rendered me a great service. You have it in your power to do me another, and no one else enjoys the unique dual personality that enables you to talk on intimate terms with French Army Commanders. By going to Soult you could, I am certain, find out his intentions. If he means to remain in Seville, well and good. But should he march north, even belatedly, although he would be too late to aid Massena, he could cut my communications with Lisbon. Warned in time I could still pursue Massena, but not with my whole force. I'd detach a division under Hill or Picton to guard my rear and hold off Soult until I had been able to retire to the safety of my base here, I ask this not only for myself, but for our country.'

Roger sighed, then gave a pale smile. 'How can I refuse, my lord? So be it, then. But last time I had a very adequate reason for leaving Lisbon. What excuse can I give to Sir Charles and others for again disappearing beyond the lines?'

After a moment's thought, Wellington replied, 'Since you speak French, Portuguese and Spanish fluently, you could become a useful member of my staff. I will appoint you one of my civilian secretaries, have you given some work which will keep you employed for a week, and orders that, when it is completed, you should join me in the field. But instead, of course, you will proceed to Seville.'

So once more the die was cast and, none too happily, Roger made his way back to the Legation.

In the morning he told the Stuarts of his appointment. Mary was torn between pride that her cavalier should have elected to take an active part in the war, and disappointment that he would not be able to accompany her and Deborah again on their afternoon drives. But she was greatly cheered when Sir Charles assisted that Roger should continue to occupy a room at the Legation, which would enable her to see quite a lot of him.

Roger then reported at Wellington's headquarters. The General had already left, but before leaving he had briefed his chief secretary, who gave Roger a pile of Portuguese documents to translate. He found the work laborious and dull, but as the secretary was unaware of the secret reason for Roger's appointment, there was no avoiding it; and he was somewhat consoled by being able to enjoy Mary's vivacious company in the evenings.

On Sunday the Stuarts made up a party with several friends to drive out and picnic at Cintra, Deborah was not well, so was unable to accompany them, with the result that, after the meal, Roger for once had Mary on her own for well over an hour. Together they strolled through the wood of cork trees that covered the big hill dominating the plain. Having come upon a mossy bank, they sat down on it. Presently she said in a low voice:

'Mr. Brook, since you lost your wife, have you ever thought of marrying again?'

For some time past he had sensed that she was falling in love with him, and instinct told him now that she had asked the question to give him an opening. Anxious to spare her feelings, he smiled at her, shook his head and lied:

'No, my dear, I am too restless a type to settle down to a domestic life. Were I a much younger man, and not set in my ways, I'd propose to you; for you will make a sweet wife for some lucky fellow. But I am old enough to be your father and, after a few months, you would find me impossible to live with. So that is entirely out of the question.⁵

'Perhaps you're right, she murmured a little sadly. 'But I believe I could make you happy.

He took her hand and pressed it. 'You could indeed, were I able to shed ten or fifteen years. But, since I cannot, we must just remain good friends.'

For a moment she was silent. Suddenly she laughed, turned her face up to him and said, "Then that's reason enough for you to kiss me.'

Laughing in reply, he took her in his arms and put his lips to hers; but it was a very gentle kiss, quite unlike those he normally gave to women.

Her arms went round his neck and she pressed herself against him. He could feel her heart pounding and her lips began to move under his. Greatly tempted as he was to respond, he quickly controlled himself. Taking his mouth from hers, he kissed her on the ear, the hair and the nose. Then he held her away from him, shook his head and said:

'You are a wicked little baggage. Had I been a younger man, you might have led me to seduce you. Then there would have been tears and a sad ending to our friendship. Come now, put your pretty bonnet straight, and we'll rejoin the others.'

For a moment she looked chastened, then she pouted and said, 'I think it horrid in you to have formed such an opinion of me.'

Laughing, he pulled her to her feet, dusted off some fallen leaves that were clinging to her dress and took her by the arm. Within a few minutes she was smiling again and chattering away as merrily as ever.

On the morning of March 11th, Roger said good bye to her and the Stuarts and set off for Seville. For several days past, after the long months of stagnation, Lisbon had been in a fever of excitement as news from the front came in. The two armies were in close contact and Massena was retreating; but his retreat showed no sign of becoming a rout. Under their veteran leaders, his divisions were taking advantage of every favourable piece of ground to fight rearguard actions. But they were severely hampered by having lost so many horses, and those that survived were too weak to charge; so the British cavalry were having a field day, cutting down small bodies of French, or taking them prisoner wherever they came upon them.

As Roger crossed the few miles between Lisbon and the now abandoned lines of Torres Vedras, he encountered several small batches of these tattered, woebegone captives, who had hardly the strength left to continue marching, being brought in. While in the opposite direction, a constant stream of reinforcements and supply wagons was moving up toward the front. Beyond the lines the stream flowed on north-eastward, but he turned away to the south-east and, not long afterwards, was riding through deserted country.

By road Seville was a good two hundred and fifty miles away and the greater part of the journey lay through mountainous regions. As he could not hope to secure remounts, he expected it to take him the best part of a week, and the possibility of his being able to buy meals was dubious, so he had with him a good supply of food.

During the whole of the first day he was still in the great area of middle Portugal, where the earth had been scorched, so he saw only a few peasants in the distance. That night he slept in a deserted farmhouse. It was not until the evening of the second day that he entered a village which was still inhabited. There, to account for the foreign accent with which he spoke Portuguese, he said that he was a Spaniard from the Basque country in the far north. The man to whom he spoke accepted his statement without question and, in one of the few stone houses, he ate a meal of stew, then slept the night there.

For some weeks past the weather had been mainly good, with many days of spring sunshine. But when he woke next morning, he found that it had broken. Rain was teeming down, and he spent a miserable day alternately trotting and walking his horse up and down steep gradients, where the indifferent roads had become muddy rivers. Still worse, when twilight fell he was up in the mountains and, although he rode doggedly on until it was almost dark, he failed to come upon a village. Soaked to the skin, he spent a miserable night huddled in a cave.

Next morning it was still raining, but by midday he entered a small town where he was able to get a hot meal. That evening he crossed the frontier into Spain. Again the country was mountainous and so sparsely inhabited that night came down before he could hope to reach a village; so he had to doss down in a charcoal burner's hut.

On his fifth day he entered another town, and there gave himself out to be a Portuguese from the region of the Douro. A good meal at an inn partially restored his spirits, and that night he was lucky, for he came upon a quite large country house surrounded by a sadly neglected estate. Its owner, an old gentleman, received him courteously accepted his statement that he was a Portuguese wine-shipper whose business had been ruined by Napoleon's embargo on trading with England and that he was on his way to his sister who had married a citizen of Seville then said he would be happy to have his company for supper.

Roger then learned that his host had sent his family into Seville, and was living in the house with a few servants only to protect it from being looted and occupied by bandits. Over the meal they talked of the miseries brought about by the war and both drank to the eternal damnation of Napoleon. That night Roger again enjoyed the luxury of sleeping between sheets.

Late on the afternoon of the sixth day he sighted a foraging party of French Hussars. All through his journey he had feared to encounter a band of brigands who would have robbed, stripped and probably killed him. Immensely relieved, he rode up to the troop and announced himself as Colonel le Comte de Breuc, carrying an urgent dispatch from the Prince of Essling to the Duke of Dalmatia, and asked to be at once conducted to Soult's headquarters. The officer detached his sergeant and two men as escort for him and, an hour later, Roger was riding into Seville.

There he found Soult's army in a very different state from Massena's. Groups of well turned out officers and men were strolling about the city, ogling the senoritas who did not appear to share the almost universal hatred of the Spanish for the French-or sitting drinking in the wine shops. Their Commander-in-Chief had taken over the splendid Alcazar Palace, and Roger was led through its courtyards, with their beautifully-carved Moorish arches, grilles and fountains, to the room of one of Soult's adjutants. An hour later, he was ushered in to the grey haired Marshal.

Roger explained his having arrived in Portugal by the same story he had told Massena, adding that, after spending a few days at the Prince's headquarters, he had volunteered to carry a dispatch to Seville. He then gave the news that hunger had forced Massena to fall back on country where his troops could obtain supplies, and handed the dispatch over.

Soult broke the seals, read the appeal for aid, casually tossed it on to a heap of papers and said, 'His Highness of Essling has my sympathy, but I fear there is no way in which I can assist him. Some months ago I received an order from the Emperor to co-operate with him by moving against Lisbon from the south. But His Majesty had no idea of conditions here, and his order was quite impractical. You know his temper, Breuc. He would become berserk with rage if I abandoned southern Spain, and deprive me of my command. Holding it down is no small commitment, and it was as much as I dared do to spare Mortier's corps for an advance into Estremadura. That, at least, was a valuable contribution, as we defeated a Spanish army there on February 19th, then laid siege to Badajoz, which fell a week ago today.'

Badajoz was the most important city between Seville and the Portuguese frontier, but many miles north-east of the direct route to Lisbon. Knowing Soult and Massena's dislike of each other, Roger guessed that the former had deliberately selected this diversion as an excuse not to go to the latter's assistance; but he smoothly remarked:

'My congratulations on this fine achievement, Marshal. No doubt you felt it essential to reduce that great fortress, before permitting the Due de Treviso to turn west and advance towards Lisbon.'

'Exactly. It would have been most rash to allow Mortier to march direct into Portugal, leaving Badajoz untaken on his flank. The big garrison there might have made a sortie and severed his communications with my main army. And now, Breuc, I take it you will remain here with us.'

It being impossible for Roger to reply that, having found out that Soult had no intention of going to Massena's aid, he himself wanted to get back to Lisbon as soon as he could, he appeared to hesitate as he said, 'I hardly know, Marshal; but I suppose that having delivered His Highness of Essling's despatch, I ought to endeavour to rejoin him.'

Soult put up a protesting hand. 'No, no, Breuc. I could not allow it. You have taken risk enough in making your way alone through hostile country all the way from Santarem. To expose yourself again to the risk of being killed and eaten by our barbarous enemies would be madness. And, if you did get back to the Prince, in his present plight you could do him no earthly good. Report to my Chief of Staff, du Maurier. He will have a uniform found for you and provide you with work suited to your considerable abilities. I shall be glad to have you on my staff.'

Having expected that he would have to remain for some time at Soult's headquarters, Roger reconciled himself to doing so and, after thanking the Marshal, went in search of his Chief of Staff. Du Maurier, a fat and pleasant man, took him to the Mess for a meal, then allocated to him a room on the upper floor of the Palace in which, tired out after his long day, he went early to bed.

Next morning a suitable uniform was brought to him, and du Maurier told him that, as he spoke Spanish, he was to sit on a tribunal that Soult had set up to hear complaints by the citizens of Seville against abuses by the troops.

His new work proved a revelation. Normally, all Napoleon's Marshals treated the people of conquered cities extremely ill, looting their houses and allowing the troops the greatest license in bullying the men and forcing the women. Soult was particularly notorious for this unscrupulous behaviour. He was known to be the greatest looter of them all, and had accumulated a collection of paintings, church ornaments and jewels said to be worth many millions. Yet, by his orders, the tribunal was heavily biased in favour of the Spaniards. Fines, imprisonment and demotions were freely inflicted on officers and men of his army.

Roger no longer wondered at having found the people of Seville so well disposed toward their French rulers, and he soon learned from his brother officers the reason for this new policy of appeasement. Unlike that of Suchet in Valencia, it was no disinterested move aimed at restoring order and justice in conquered territory. Apparently, after having butchered half the inhabitants of Oporto, and taken that city, Soult had nurtured the dream of turning northern Portugal into a kingdom for himself; but Wellington had driven him out of it. Now that he had become the overlord of southern Spain, in spite of the fact that Napoleon's brother, Joseph, was still in Madrid and, legally at least, King of Spain, the Marshal was planning to make himself King of Andalusia.

On capturing Seville, he had set about the business of confiscating works of art particularly Old Masters, which were his special delight with his usual gusto. But, recently, he had had second thoughts, for he had decided that the most satisfactory way of becoming a permanent ruler was to induce the people to ask him to become their King. With this in view, he had returned to the churches all the gold plate, reliquaries and chalices he had stolen, and instituted the tribunal as a means of winning popularity at no cost to himself.

Naturally, Roger derived considerable pleasure from righting the wrongs done to unfortunate Spaniards; and, although he had been in Seville before, he enjoyed visiting again the sights of interest and strolling in the beautiful garden of the Alcazar. One afternoon, when he was walking in it with a brother officer, between the trees proceeding down a cross path he caught sight of a surprising figure.

It was apparently a Captain of Hussars in a beautifully tailored, sky-blue uniform; but the skin-tight smalls covered the plump bottom of a woman, the gold lace of the tunic protruded in a most suggestive curve, and beneath the busby dark ringlets fell to the epaulettes on the shoulders. Halting in his tracks, Roger exclaimed:

'Sacri bleu! Just look at that. Am I seeing things, or are we now giving commissions to young women?'

His companion laughed. 'Have you not seen her about the headquarters before? She is Anita, a lovely young Spaniard. Our Marshal is a great one for the women, and summons a fine variety of them to his bed. But Anita is a special case. She is his permanent mistress, and accompanies him everywhere. By putting her into uniform he has saved her the inconvenience inseparable from wearing female clothes when she rides out with him on reconnaissance.'

After a week in Seville, Roger decided that the time had come when he could disappear without arousing suspicion that he had left deliberately.

For the sake of exercise most of his brother staff officers went for a ride outside the city, either early in the morning or in the evening, and there had been one occasion when one of them had failed to return, presumably through having ridden too far afield and fallen into the hands of the enemy or marauders.

There was only one difficulty in carrying out a deception on these lines. The officers usually rode out in parties and rarely alone; but Roger had thought of a way in which he could rid himself of a single companion.

On the afternoon of the 24th he asked a Major Theophile Simplon, with whom he had ridden out before, if he would care to go for a ride with him. Simplon accepted and it was agreed that they should meet in the stables in half an hour's time. Roger got there well in advance of the Major, taking with him, wrapped up in paper, his civilian clothes. Telling the groom on duty that he would saddle his own horse, he spread the folded coat and breeches on the animal's back and strapped the saddle over them. Then he stuffed his soft brimmed hat into one saddle holster and into the other a packet of cold meat that he had taken from the Mess side table when no one was in the room.

Simplon, little suspecting the trick that was to be played on him, joined him shortly afterwards and, side by side, they rode out of the city. When they were some two miles from the walls, they came to wooded country, which suited Roger's purpose. They had turned down a ride where no one could see them even from a distance, and were walking their horses. Roger dropped half a length behind his companion, then took a stiletto from under his jacket and dug the point sharply into the rump of the Major's mount.

With a spasmodic jerk, the animal reared, gave a loud neigh and bolted with the unfortunate Simplon. Roger had estimated that, the Major having had no warning of what would befall, his horse would cover the best part of half a mile before he could bring it under control. When, with flying hooves, it had sped a hundred yards, Roger turned off into another ride and put his own horse into a gallop.

Having ridden on for an hour, he pulled up at a place where some big boulders had rolled down a mountain to the side of the road. Among them he changed into his civilian clothes and left his uniform and befeathered hat.

Then he pressed forward at the best pace he could expect from his mount, heading for the house in which he had spent his last night before reaching Seville.

Night fell long before he arrived there. The moon gave sufficient light for him to keep to the right road, but he had some difficulty in finding the house and it was close on midnight when he entered the short, overgrown drive that led to it.

The place was in darkness, but he hammered with his riding crop on the door until a nickering light appeared and a servant, opening a grille in the door, asked suspiciously what he wanted. On his giving the name he had used on his previous visit, the man remembered him and went to rouse his master.

When the old gentleman appeared, Roger told him that, on reaching Seville, he had learned that his sister and her husband had been killed by their house collapsing on them, as a result of the bombardment during the siege of the city. As he knew no one there and had very little money, he had decided that his best course was to make his way back to his native Oporto, where he at least had other relatives and numerous friends. The old man then commiserated with him, gave him a bed for the night and saw to it that he had a good breakfast before setting off again in the morning.

He spent his second night at a wayside inn, his third in a mountain cave and his fourth in a deserted farmhouse. On the fifth day he was riding again through the scorched-earth country, with the cheerful prospect that, if his luck held, by the following night he would be back in Lisbon. But, alas for those happy thoughts, his luck did not hold.

Both on his outward journey and during his return, he had taken every possible precaution to avoid other people, however innocent looking. A score of times, on seeing vehicles, horsemen or peasants approaching along the road, he had quickly turned off into a wood or down a bridle path, where he could remain concealed until any likelihood of danger was past. But on this afternoon he was caught unawares.

The road he was on wound through a rocky gully. As he rounded a sharp bend in it, two ragged, bearded men with muskets rose from among the rocks, pointed their weapons at him and called on him to halt.

Had he been in open country, he would have set spurs to his horse and risked being hit as he galloped off. But the two men were no more than fifteen paces from him, so he did not stand a dog's chance of getting away without being seriously wounded. Cursing below his breath, he pulled up and, at a gruff order, dismounted.

As he did so, in Spanish mingled with enough Portuguese for the man to understand him, he declared himself to be a Spanish patriot carrying a message from General the Marquis de la Romana to Lord Wellington.

One of the men was a little runt, but it was he who had spoken for both, and he said, 'Maybe, comrade, maybe not. We'll soon find out. You are coming with us.'

The other man slouched forward and took Roger's horse by the bridle, while the runt cautiously took a few paces sideways until he was behind Roger and could point his musket at his back. giving him a quick prod with the barrel, he said:

'Come on. Get moving.'

To Roger, the three-quarters of an hour that followed seemed never ending. As he trudged along, he recalled all the accounts he had heard, both from British and French acquaintances, of the terrible fate that befell those who were captured by brigands. That they really cooked and ate people he believed to be a slander; but he had no doubt at all that their hatred for their enemies was so intense that they tortured unmercifully the French soldiers who fell into their hands, and often finished them off by skinning them alive, burning or disemboweling them. He could only pray that his knowledge of Spanish and Portuguese, together with his long since perfected ability to lie convincingly would enable him to get away with his life. At the least he could expect to be robbed of his money, and would be lucky if they even left him his clothes.

The man holding the horse led the way down the steep, rocky road until the gully ended, opening out into country where there were small woods and land that had previously been cultivated. At length they turned off the road on to a track that ran alongside a coppice. Beyond the trees there lay a by-road and, on the far side, a good-sized country house. As they approached it, Roger guessed that it had been evacuated by its owner and that the brigands had moved in as squatters.

When they had walked up a short drive, they halted for a moment in front of the house. The runt muttered something that Roger did not catch to the bigger man, who led the horse away, evidently taking it to a stable at the back of the premises.

They had not bothered to take Roger's sword from him. Now that he had only one man to deal with was, he felt, the time to use it. But his hand had hardly moved toward the hilt, before the musket barrel was again pressed against the base of his spine, and the runt said:

'Go on. Into the house. You can tell your story to O Diabo dos olhos azuis; and we'll see what he has to say about it.'

To whip out his sword at that moment would, Roger felt, have been the last act of his life. There was nothing for it but to obey. Seething with anger and frustration, he walked up the steps that led to a door which stood half-open and, prodded by the runt, crossed a hall into a once pleasant, but now dilapidated salon.

There were three other men and two slatternly women there. One of the men was lounging on a sofa, the fine brocade of which was badly stained by spilt wine. Across his lap lay one of the women, with whose plump breasts he was toying. Roughly pushing her aside, he stood up and Roger saw that he was a giant. He was heavily bearded, there was an ugly gap in his front teeth where two were missing, and he had extraordinarily prominent blue eyes.

'Here we are, Diabo the runt cried to him cheerfully. 'Brought you a bird that should be worth the plucking.'

Roger promptly burst into speech, again mingling Spanish and Portuguese, but in a manner that ensured he could be understood. With lavish detail he fabricated an account of how General de la Romana had sent him to beg milord Wellington to provide his army with some additional pieces of artillery.

The giant listened patiently, uttering not a word until Roger had to stop talking after having repeated himself several times, and being unable to think of anything else to say. There followed a full minute of nerve racking silence, then O Diabo gave a great bellow of laughter and cried:

'Stupid pig. You are a Frenchie, as anyone could see. There's not a doubt of it. Look at his fine boots and his sword, comrades. They are an officer's, or I'm a redheaded whore. And they're his own. The boots fit him like a pair of gloves. Get a fire lit in the coach-house, comrades. We'll have some fun with this spawn of a louse tonight.'

14

The Devil with Blue Eyes

The blood drained from Roger's face. His very worst fears were about to be realised. The thought of being scorched until he screamed and screamed in vain made his flesh creep and filled his mind with horror. He felt certain there was not the least possibility that the great brute they called 'the blue-eyed devil' was either joking or just trying to scare him. This was not Spain, but only owing to a divergence of dynasties. In blood and outlook the Portuguese were closer to the Madridlenos than the Catalans or the Basques. And Spain had been the home of the terrible Inquisition. On the hypocritical pretext that they were saving souls, the priests had burned Jews, Protestants and Moors-thousands of them. Those auta-da-fes, by which the Church had rid herself of her enemies, had been Roman holidays for the people. Great crowds of them had watched poor wretches writhing at the stake. They had obviously delighted in the spectacle, otherwise they would not have stood there enduring the horrible smell of roasting flesh. And now these monsters in human form were about to burn him!

It took only a few instants for these ghastly thoughts to race through Roger's brain. Within seconds he had taken his decision. Far better be shot in the back than burned alive; and, if he was quick enough he might kill O Diabo before the ball from the runt's musket smashed through his spine and made him choke in his own blood.

Many years of handling weapons and an unusual agility had made him a most formidable swordsman. He was a good twelve feet away from O Diabo, but he thought the odds favoured his chance of spitting the great brute before a bullet in his back brought him crashing to the floor. With one smooth, swift motion his sword came out of its sheath like a ripple of light. As he drew it, he sprang forward, halving the distance between his enemy and himself. His right arm was drawn back behind the blade so that his lunge would have all the force he could put into it.

Next moment he was within four feet of the giant and had delivered his thrust. But the woman with whom O Diabo had been toying on the sofa was standing with her arm through his. From Roger's sadden change of expression she must have guessed his intention. With the agility of a ballet dancer, she pirouetted on one foot, bringing herself round in front of her tall lover. The point of Roger's blade ripped into her shoulder.

She gave a piercing scream. The impact had thrown her against O Diabo's chest. Her free arm jerked upward and she flung it round his neck to prevent herself from falling. It was only then that Roger realised he had not been shot in the back. Evidently the runt felt that would be too swift a death for him, and did not want them to be robbed of their sport.

Roger gave a violent tug on his sword, but it was embedded in the muscles behind the woman's shoulder and would not come out. Instead, the force of his tug pulled the woman away from O Diabo. Her arm was wrenched from round his neck, and she fell to the floor. As she hit it, Roger's sword snapped off about nine inches from the point.

In, any case, he would have had no chance to make a second lunge at 0 Diabo, for the runt had dropped his musket and seized him round the waist. Quick-witted as ever in an affray, Roger lifted the hilt of his sword as though to strike himself in the stomach. On it were the clasped hands of the runt. The heavy hilt came smashing down on them. The runt gave a howl of pain, followed by a spate of blasphemous curses, and let go. At that moment O Diabo was occupied in lifting his woman from the floor and getting her on to the sofa.

Instantly Roger swung round. The two other bandits had been lounging at the far end of the room near a pair of french windows. As Roger sprang forward to attack O Diabo they had jumped to their feet and come running to the runt's assistance. On entering the salon, Roger had registered the windows as a possible means of escape. If he could deal with the two men who were now almost upon him, and elude O Diabo, who would be certain to pursue him, there was just a chance that he might get away through the windows.

His sword was a slightly curved cavalry sabre, and still had two feet of blade. The nearer of the men coming at him was a lanky youth who still had down on his receding jaw. Roger had no time to raise his sword, so brought it swishing round at elbow level. It sliced into the lower part of the youth's arm. As the blood spurted from the savage cut, he gave a yelp, clapped his hand to the wound and reeled sideways, lurching into his companion, who was just about to strike at Roger's face with a pike. The collision diverted the blow and gave Roger his chance. He bounded toward the open window.

Seconds later he heard the crashing of heavy feet. O Diabo had left his woman and was after him. But he still had a chance. He was a very fast runner. If only he could get through the window, he had a good hope of outdistancing his pursuers. Alas for that hope. At that very moment the man who had taken his horse round to the stable appeared outside the window. Sizing up the situation in the salon at a glance, he swiftly drew a thin-bladed dagger and crouched on the threshold barring Roger's way.

Unless Roger had rushed upon the man's stiletto, he would have had to pull up in his wild career, and feint with his broken sword before striking out to cut him down. Even the pause of a moment would, he knew, bring O Diabo on him from behind. But there was still just one hope. The other three men were hard on O Diabo'' heels, so the door of the room, left half-open by the runt, was unguarded.

Roger swerved toward it. He had one foot in the air and was now sideways on to O Diabo, The giant's great fist shot out and caught him squarely on the cheek. The blow seemed to jolt every tooth in his head. For a second stars and circles whirled against blackness before his eyes. His sword dropped from his hand. With one foot still in the air, he heeled over and crashed to the ground.

For four or five heart-beats he lay there. Then, bemused but with the instinct of self-preservation still uppermost, he struggled to get up. Next moment, the whole pack was round him. The runt gave him a vicious kick in the ribs, but he shot out a hand and grabbed the bandit's other leg by the ankle, threw himself sideways and brought the little man down on top of him. Gasping in a deep breath, he raised both hands and got them round the runt's throat.

In vain the runt beat at Roger's face with his bleeding hands. Three of his fingers had been broken by the sword hilt, so pain prevented him from putting any strength into his blows. O Diabo, evidently thinking the little man's plight amusing, stood back and guffawed; but the bandit's other comrades came to his assistance. Seizing Roger's arms they strove to pull them away, and to break his grip on the runt's neck. Panting now, and with sweat pouring down his face, Roger hung on like grim death, pressing his strong thumbs firmly into the soft flesh below the other's chin. His mouth had opened and his tongue stuck out. His dark, fear-stricken eyes began to pop. Another minute and he would have been strangled into unconsciousness. But before half that minute had gone Roger felt a hand thrust up between his legs. It was that of the woman he had wounded, using her sound arm. The hand found his testicles, grabbed them and squeezed. A ghastly pain shot up from them into his stomach and seemed to pierce his heart. He gave a scream of agony, let go of the runt's neck and fainted.

When he came to, he was still lying in the same place on the floor. His breath was coming in gasps, tears were running down his cheeks and stabs of pain racked his body. His head was splitting and his jaw ached from the blow O Diabo had struck him on the side of the face. For several minutes he lay quite still, endeavoring to decrease the pain by taking only short, shallow breaths. After a while he turned his head, first to one side, then to the other, dimly taking in what was going on in the room.

O Diabo was again lounging on the sofa, now smoking a long clay pipe. The wounded woman was having her shoulder bound up by the other woman, who had taken no part in the fight. The runt had disappeared, presumably to nurse his injuries, so had the man who had been his companion in the ambush. There remained the two who had been with O Diabo when Roger had been brought into the room. One was a stout, brawny fellow with ginger hair. The other was the youngster whose arm Roger had slashed. He was darker-skinned than the others and had a flattened nose, so was probably half Negro. His wound had already been attended to and his arm was in a sling.

Both the door of the room and the french windows were still open; but they might have been bolted and barred as far as Roger was concerned. He was in such pain that he found it difficult to concentrate his thoughts and if he had managed to get to his feet he doubted if he would be able to walk, let alone put up a fight.

After a time O Diabo finished his pipe, got up and crossed the room to help himself to a mug of wine from a jug that stood on a side table. As he passed Roger he noticed that his eyes were open. Kneeling, he raised Roger's head, put the mug to his lips and said:

'Drink some of this, Frenchie. It'll put a bit of strength into you."

The wine was coarse and sharp, but Roger sucked it in gratefully, thinking meanwhile that this giant with the bright blue eyes could not be altogether evil. But his flickering hope of mercy was short-lived, as the other added, 'If we can't get you back into fair shape, you'll kick the bucket too soon and spoil our evening's sport.'

Roger stopped drinking, let his head fall back and groaned.

'Scared a bit, Frenchie?' the big man grinned, showing the ugly gap in the centre of his upper row of teeth. 'But we can't let French pigs live. That would be a sin, according to our priests.'

For a moment he was silent, then he went on, 'Still, I've got a soft spot for a man who puts up a good fight; and you certainly did that. So I'll give you a choice of deaths. Shall we burn you, skin you alive or shove a bayonet up your arse?'

His flesh again creeping with horror, Roger did not reply, gave another groan and closed his eyes.

Passing his great arms under Roger's body, the giant lifted him as though he were a child, carried him over to a battered chaise longue and laid him on it. Before turning away, he said, 'You've plenty of time to think it over. Alfonso, that's the chap you nearly strangled, wants to see you dance, so I said I'd give him an hour or two to pull himself together.'

The 'hour or two' seemed to Roger the longest he had spent in his life. He could almost have wished that his brain had not started to work again, as he could not keep his mind off the ghastly deaths of which he had been given a choice. Even being burnt seemed slightly less terrible than being flayed, and the bayonet should be quicker than either. But would it? He had known men suffering from an internal hemorrhage take several hours to die, and they always died writhing in agony.

Twilight fell and two candles stuck in bottles were lit. As darkness came, deep shadows obscured the far comers of the room. At length the door creaked. Alfonso the runt came through it. Both his hands were bandaged and there was a compress round his neck. Pausing beside Roger, he leered down at him, spat in his face, then walked over to O Diabo and said hoarsely:

'I'm a shade better now. Well enough, anyway, to enjoy seeing the French pig fried.'

Standing up, O Diabo came over to Roger and asked, 'What's it to be, Frenchie? The fire, the knife or a bloody hole in your guts?'

Roger was still in great pain, but the long lie on the chaise longue had recruited his strength a little. He felt that he would be able to stand up, and even walk a few steps. But he knew that he was utterly incapable of putting up another fight. Rallying his resources, he was able to reply clearly and firmly, 'You are not going to kill me in any of those ways; or in any other way. Because I am in a position to buy my life.'

O Diabo gave a bellow of laughter. 'Listen, comrades. The fool thinks he can buy his life because he has a few gold pieces on him.'

'I've more than a few,' said Roger quietly, 'but I…'

The other cut him short. 'That's all to the good. Let's have them.'

Roger put his hands to his waist, in order to get at his money belt, but he was still very weak and fumbled with the buttons of his suit. Seeing his intention, O Diabo impatiently pushed his hands aside, undid the buttons, made Roger sit up and pulled the belt from under his vest.

The others now crowded round as their leader emptied the pockets of the belt on a nearby table. There were packets of Spanish, Portuguese, English and French gold coins and the special reserve Roger always carried, a little wash-leather bag containing a number of small diamonds.

When the bandits had finished exclaiming on their luck at having made such an unusually rich haul, O Diabo turned back to Roger and grinned, 'St. Christopher himself must have sent you to us, Frenchie, Out of your money we'll buy him a score of candles. But don't fool yourself that you're going to live. When we'd stripped you, as we're about to now, we'd have come on. the belt and taken it anyhow.'

'Of course.' Roger gave a slight nod. Tm not such a fool as to have failed to realise that; but you did not let me finish.'

'What more have you to say?'

'As you will have gathered from the contents of my money belt, I am a man of some importance. That I am a French officer, I now admit. I am Colonel Comte de Breuc, and a Commander of the Legion of Honour.' Roger was still in considerable pain and the effort of talking had made the sweat again break out on his forehead. As he paused to wipe it away with the back of his hand, O Diabo shrugged his great shoulders and said:

'Save your breath, Frenchie. You were going to tell us that your friends will pay a fine ransom for you, weren't you? Maybe they would, but maybe they'd put the thumbscrews on my messenger until he brought them here to make an end of us. That is, if there was a Frenchie General in this neighborhood. But there isn't. Now the English have chivvied Massena away from Lisbon, there's not a French army within a hundred miles. So put that out of your mind and choose your death. Come on now!'

Roger had thought of suggesting that he should get himself ransomed; not by the French, whom he had realised were much too far away, but by the British. Knowing that he was quite a wealthy man, Sir Charles Stuart would not have hesitated to provide the money. But an appeal to the British Minister meant having to declare himself an Englishman. He had no possible means of proving that, and it was certain beyond all doubt that O Diabo would not believe him. With a calmness that he was far from feeling, he played his last card.

'All you say is true enough; but I was not thinking of asking you to send a request to my General to ransom me. I am capable of ransoming myself.'

'And how, Frenchie, would you do that?' O Diabo gave him a cynical smile. ' ⁵Tis known that your Emperor and Satan are one, so maybe you think a prayer to him would bring you a shower of gold. But I'll wager he won't answer.'

Managing a smile, Roger replied, "And I certainly wouldn't take you. I've a far more reliable way of producing a fortune. Some two and a half years ago, when General Junot entered Lisbon, I was with him. I need hardly tell you that it is the custom of French officers of high rank to collect souvenirs of the cities they capture. I collected the jewels of the Marquis de Pombal, before he left for Brazil. Later, you will remember, the English landed in Portugal, our army was defeated and, by the Convention of Cintra, we were shipped back to France.

Fearing to have the jewels taken from me, I buried them in a safe place a few miles outside Lisbon. Ever since then the English have occupied that part of the country; so I've had no chance to collect them. They must still be there,'

O Diabo's blue eyes had opened wide with interest as he listened to this story. Having roused his cupidity, Roger hurried on, 'You can have no idea of this treasure unless you see it. There are ropes of pearls, tiaras blazing with gems, crosses with rubies and emeralds, a girdle of solid gold set with turquoises, high combs studded with diamonds, rings, ear-rings, watches and breast ornaments, all fashioned from gold and jewels. Their value is fabulous. They would fetch many million moredores. Enough for all of you never to have to work or risk your lives as robbers again, When the war is over you could live in a town as rich people, or buy farms on which others would labour for you. Promise me my life, and all this is yours.'

There was a moment's silence, then the group broke into an excited babble, With the mentality of children they began to tell one another of the splendid figures they would cut when they had all this money. O Diabo slowly nodded his bearded head:

'You shall take us to it. But don't get any idea that we shall give you a chance to escape on the way. Any tricks and we'll hang you by your thumbs to the branch of a tree, then light a small fire under you that will burn your feet away.'

The effort to tell his story while still in great pain had completely exhausted Roger. Closing his eyes he lay back on the chaise tongue. A sense of unutterable relief flooded through him at knowing that he was not now to die a ghastly death within the next hour. But he had gained no more than a reprieve. The treasure he had described so temptingly did not exist. It was only a figment of his vivid imagination; and already that vivid imagination was beginning to conjure up the awful treatment he would receive when O Diabo and his gang discovered mat they had been fooled.

The childish excitement of Roger's captors was coupled with a childish faith in his fairy story. He was now a being to be humored and cherished. They put pillows under his head, gave him more wine and put to rights his clothes which had become disheveled when his money belt had been pulled from round his waist.

The woman who had not been wounded went off to cook the evening meal. A small table was put beside the chaise longue, so that he could eat in comfort. The meal consisted of a rabbit stew, highly flavored with garlic, and slabs of a coarse cake, in which there was a generous supply of the locally dried raisins. Roger loathed garlic but, knowing how important it was to recruit his strength, he managed to get most of his portion down by swiftly adding to each mouthful a swig of wine.

When he had finished the meal, O Diabo asked Roger anxiously if he thought he would be sufficiently recovered to start the next morning. For a moment Roger remained silent, weighing the pros and cons. As long as his captors remained ignorant that the treasure was a myth, his life was safe, so it was very tempting to postpone setting out for Lisbon for a day or two. On the other hand, the moment of truth had to be faced sooner or later, and the suspense to which he would be subjected until it did would be harrowing. So he said that, after a night's rest, he hoped to be well enough.

The powerfully made, red-headed man, whose name was Paolo, supported him upstairs to a bedroom, and helped him to undress; but, when he lay down on the bed, took the precaution of tying his wrists with lengths of cord to the wooden bed head. There was sufficient slack in the cords for them not to cause him any discomfort; but, eyen had he been in good shape, they would have prevented any attempt to escape.

Paolo had only just left him when the woman who had cooked their supper came in. Pulling down the blanket with which. Roger was covered, she eased up his vest, exposing his private parts. As his hands were attached to the bed head, he could not resist her, and was seized by panic. His terror that she meant to inflict further injury upon him entirely eliminated any embarrassment he might have felt. But, as he squirmed away from her and began to shout, she only laughed and held a pot of ointment up for him to see. She began gently to massage his testicles with the cream. It was a concoction of crushed poppy seeds in fat, and it soon dulled the ache from which he was still suffering. Some twenty minutes after she had blown out the solitary candle and closed his door behind her, he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke in the morning he wondered for a moment where he was; then, like a nightmare, his ordeal of the previous evening came back to him. His jaw began to ache again, but he was greatly relieved to find that the pain in his groin was now hardly noticeable. That he had not, as he had feared after the slut's attack on him, been deprived of his manhood was a matter for thanksgiving; but whether it would ever again be of any use to him seemed highly problematic. Once more a terrible dread of the denouement that must take place when they came within a few miles of Lisbon drove all other thoughts from his mind.

He had been awake only a quarter of an hour when Paolo came in, untied him, helped him into his clothes and took him down to breakfast. In the salon, while they were all eating, a fine wrangle took place. All the members of the band wanted to go on the expedition, because each of them feared that, if he were left behind, the others would make off with the splendid spoil. But only four horses, including Roger's, were available. After much argument, 0 Diabo ruled that the Negroid youth and the runt Alfonso should be left there with the women, because the arm of the one and the broken fingers of the other would prove a serious handicap on horseback. He, of course, would go himself and take Paolo and the runt's original companion, whose name was Francesco.

Lisbon was the best part of a day's ride distant, and Roger told O Diabo that, owing to his recent injury, he doubted if he could go that far; but the giant said that if he collapsed they would lie up somewhere for the night. When the horses were brought round, he had a blanket strapped over Roger's saddle, to make it more comfortable for him; and, on mounting, Roger found that riding would not prove as painful as he had expected.

Gradually the morning hours wore away and during that time they made good progress. At midday they halted and, among some trees at the roadside, ate some of the food they had brought with them. Afterwards Roger hoped they would take a siesta, and there might be a chance of his getting away. But O Diabo was anxious to press on. Roger had calculated that if they did they would probably come to within a few miles of Lisbon by late afternoon, and he was determined that they should not get there before twilight was falling. So he declared that he was in no state to ride further until after he had had a good long rest. Reluctantly the giant agreed, but tied Roger's hands, then hitched the other end of the rope to a tree, so that there should be no risk of his making off if his three captors fell asleep. Resigning himself to abandoning this faint hope of escape, he stretched out on the fallen leaves and fell into a doze.

The rest did him good, and when they set off again he was feeling no worse than he had when they had left the bandit's quarters that morning. But the nearer they came to Lisbon the more his fears for his life crowded in on his mind. There had not been a moment during their journey when he had not scanned the roads along which they advanced for some feature which might lend itself to his chances if he set spurs to his horse and caused it to bolt. But O Diabo rode beside him, with Paolo and Francesco in the rear. One or other of the latter would almost certainly have shot him in the back before he could have covered fifty yards.

At length, in the far distance, the spires of Lisbon came in sight, and the lines of Torres Vedras could be seen clearly, less than a mile away. From a gateway in them there emerged a road and on it lay Roger's one remaining hope. For some minutes past he had been watching it with intense anxiety, and had seen two small groups of troops pass along it. If only he could get his captors near enough, and divert their attention for a moment when another group was passing, he meant to take his life in his hands, yell for help and endeavour to reach them.

But they were still a good way from the road when O Diabo said to him abruptly, 'Come now, Frenchie. You said you had buried the treasure about a mile from where the lines are now; and we're nearer to them than that already. Get your bearings, and be quick about it.'

Turning his horse a little to the left, Roger pointed to a gully about a hundred and fifty yards away, and replied, 'It's somewhere in the far bank of that stream over there.'

The party trotted toward it and looked down at the slowly-flowing, shallow water. With a shake of his head, Roger said, 'It is over two years since I hid the stuff, so it may take me a little time to find the place. It wasn't here anyway, but further downstream I think.'

O Diabo grunted. 'Then we'd better cross the stream and walk along under the far bank. Close to, you'll stand a better chance of recognizing a mound or a bit of out crop that will guide you to it. We'll leave our horses here.'

That was a blow to Roger, as it deprived him of the chance to gallop off, crouched low over his saddle bow. But his nerves were so strung up that he could think of no reasonable objection. As he dismounted, he ruefully accepted the fact that, if he could raise the courage to break away, he would now have to run for it.

Francesco was left to hold the horses while O Diabo, Roger and Paolo scrambled down the near bank and splashed through the shallow water. On the far side Roger turned left. Every step he took would bring him nearer the road. But, on looking toward it, his heart sank. It was now empty.

Moving as slowly as he dared, he pretended to examine every hollow and protuberance in the four-foot high bank, whenever he dared taking a quick look over it in the direction of the road. The light was now fading, but it would be an hour or more before darkness fell; so he could not hope that it would swallow him up should he escape the first shots fired at him as he made his-dash for life and liberty.

They had made their way about two hundred yards along the gully, when Roger saw a small convoy emerge from the gateway in the lines. It consisted only of two wagons, with two men riding in front of them and two behind, and it was moving at a walk. For another five minutes Roger continued to scrutinize every inequality in the bank. The convoy advanced with maddening slowness, and O Diabo was becoming impatient. Halting, he growled:

'From what you said, Frenchie, the place can't be as near the lines as this. We must have passed it. Or perhaps it's upstream from the place where we crossed. We'd better turn back.'

The convoy was still four hundred yards away. But Roger felt that if he agreed to return upstream, he would be no better off. It was now or never. With sudden resolution he gave O Diabo a violent push that sent him reeling backward into the water. Then he bounded up the bank and ran for his life.

15

The Serpent Enters Eden

As Roger raced forward over the rough grass, he shouted with all the strength of his lungs, 'Help! Help! I am an Englishman! Save me from these brigands.'

He saw the four mounted men and the drivers of the two wagons all turn their heads in his direction. Next moment he was flat on his face on the ground. He had not tripped and fallen; but, after covering the first twenty yards, deliberately flung himself down. Had he not done so, he would probably have got no further as, at that range, Paolo could hardly have failed to miss him. But his timing had been good. Only seconds after he hit the earth, a musket banged and the bullet whistled overhead.

Coming to his feet, he ran on again, his brain making frantic speculations. How long would it take for Paolo to reload? A minute perhaps. But by now O Diabo would have picked himself up. Had his musket fallen into the water with him? If so, the powder would be damp and the weapon useless until it had been dried and reprimed. But it might have fallen on the yard wide strip of sandy earth that ran alongside the stream. In that case, seething with rage, he would be taking aim at that very moment at the 'Frenchie' who had cheated him.

The two wagons had halted. The four horsemen had left the road and were coming in Roger's direction, but only at a cautious trot. 'Help!' Roger yelled again. 'Gallop, damn you. Gall…'

His last word ended in a choking gasp. A musket had banged behind him and the ball smashed into his right buttock. He staggered a couple of steps, then his leg gave under him and he hit the ground with a thump. At the same moment he heard O Diabo shout:

'Come on, Paolo! Out with your knife. We'll get the lying dog yet!' Then came the sound of swift feet thudding heavily on the grass.

Roger's wound was not as painful as he would have expected. In fact, the place where he had been hit seemed to have gone numb. But evidently the bullet had penetrated his thigh and come out there, as the right leg of his breeches was becoming saturated with blood. With an effort he forced himself up on to his feet.

For a moment he glimpsed the two brigands running toward him. They both had their knives out and their faces were convulsed with rage and hate. Apparently they were so maddened with disappointment at the loss of the great fortune they had been visualizing for the past twenty-four hours that they were willing to risk an encounter with the oncoming soldiers rather than allow Roger to escape.

His terror mounting afresh, Roger jerked himself round and made to run again. But it was the bone of his leg that had deflected the bullet. As he put his weight upon it, he was seized by an agonizing pain. He staggered a few steps, then again fell to the ground. Rolling over, he sent a frantic glance in the direction of the approaching horsemen.

At his second shout, they had broken into a gallop. Now they were no more than forty paces from him. One of them pulled up and fired a carbine. The bullet got Paolo squarely in the chest. With a loud grunt, he threw up his arms and collapsed. But O Diabo still came on.

Seconds later he reached Roger. Holding his knife high, he slashed downward with it at Roger's heart. Roger jerked himself violently away, but could not avoid the knife. Nevertheless, his movement saved him. Instead of the point piercing his chest, it struck the buckle of his belt, driving the breath out of his body, but snapping off short. By then the nearest horseman was right above O Diabo. The soldier's sword swished up, then down. The blade clove the giant's head from skull to jaw. Without a sound he collapsed on Roger, gushing blood and brains all over him.

Of what happened after that Roger had only a confused memory. Loss of blood had caused him to faint. When he came to, he realised vaguely that he was being carried on a stretcher and that his wounds had been roughly bound up. His next memory was of being put to bed and given a draught.

When he woke the following morning, English voices told him that he was in a ward of a military hospital. Soon becoming conscious that he had an urgent task to carry out he endeavored to sit up, but fell back groaning. Pain flamed in his thigh and bruised stomach, causing him to gasp for breath. When he had recovered a little, he called to a passing orderly. Reluctantly the man went off in search of the surgeon-in-charge.

When the surgeon arrived, it took all the determination Roger could muster to persuade the man that his patient was not suffering from delirium, and to insist that the British Minister be fetched to receive from him a confidential message from Lord Wellington.

Late in the afternoon Sir Charles arrived. By then Roger was in a fever, but his mind was still clear enough to ask for screens to be put round the bed, then say to his visitor:

'I have no message for Your Excellency from milord Wellington; but a most urgent one for him. Before he left

Lisbon he charged me with a special task. I succeeded in carrying it out, but I am anxious that my name should not be given in connection with my message. I pray you write to him as follows:

"The man your brother recommended to you has been in Seville. He talked with Soult. Victor has made no progress with the siege of Cadiz. Mortier took Badajoz on March 10th, but will advance no further. Soult's ambition is to make himself King of Andalusia, You may therefore be certain that he will not leave Seville." '

The Minister gave a slow smile. 'From the interest Lord Wellington displayed in you when he was here, Mr. Brook, I suspected that you must be something more than a casual traveller. I realise that this very welcome information is of the first importance, since it will enable Wellington to use all his resources in pursuit of Massena. It shall be dispatched to him under double seal, with all possible speed, and I will arrange for the courier to be escorted by a troop of horse, to ensure that he reaches our General safely.'

Weakly, Roger returned the smile. 'I thank you, Sir. That is a great weight off my mind. But I am in poor shape, so you will forgive me if I do not now talk further. You might, though, give my love to little Mary.'

Had Roger's mind been in a normal state, he would not have singled out Mary, much less used the word 'love', when referring to her. He would simply have sent his respects to 'the ladies'. But Sir Charles did not appear to notice that he had made what, in those times, could be taken as a declaration. Laying his hand lightly on Roger's shoulder, he said:

'I was happy to learn from your surgeon, Mr. Brook, that apart from a bruising of your thigh bone, you have sustained only a flesh wound. So we may hope that you will be able to get about again before long. In the mean time, it will be my pleasure to ensure that every care is taken of you.'

The strain of the interview caused Roger to have a relapse. For the greater part of the next forty-eight hours a succession of opium draughts kept him unconscious; but on his third day the fever left him and, for a short while that afternoon, he was allowed to see visitors. Enquiries had been made daily by the Legation about his progress, and now Mary and Deborah arrived with fruit, flowers and wine.

Screens had again been put round his bed and, unabashed by Deborah's presence, Mary kissed him lightly on the forehead. Sir Charles had, of course, kept to himself the fact that Roger had carried out a dangerous mission and penetrated the French headquarters in Seville, so the two girls assumed that he had been with Wellington until sent back for some reason to Lisbon.

He naturally confirmed their belief, but told them, as was only too true, how he had fallen into the hands of brigands a day's march from the city, induced them to accompany him there then, when they had come within sight of British troops, broken away from them.

Deborah told him that her uncle had asked for him to be given a private ward, but the hospital was now so full of wounded sent back from the front that this had not been possible. To his delight, she added that, as soon as he was well enough to be moved, he was to occupy his old room at the Legation.

Roger learned that Wellington's pursuit of Massena was going well. The French were in a desperate plight, as they retreated across the mountains of central Beira. Nearly all their horses were dead, so they had had to abandon most of their wagons and many of their guns, while the men, demoralized by long privations, were deserting by the hundred or dying by the roadside.

Quite casually, as though it was of little importance, just before the girls left, Mary gave him a piece of news that had reached Lisbon two days earlier. On the 20th, Marie Louise had presented the Emperor with a son, who was to be known as the King of Rome.

The event might be of no great significance to Napoleon's enemies, but Roger knew how much it would mean to the Bonaparte’s. At last the Emperor had achieved his dearest ambition a son fathered on the daughter of an Imperial house that claimed its descent from the Emperors of Rome and Byzantium. He could imagine the fabulous jewels that Napoleon would shower on the young mother; the spate of honour’s poured out to friends and high officials of the Empire; the fireworks, fetes, parades and balls that, regardless of expense, would celebrate the arrival of this little heir to territories stretching from the Baltic to the tip of Italy. He could also imagine the rage and bitter disappointment with which several members of the Bonaparte family would be filled by this royal birth. Joseph, as Napoleon's eldest brother, had always regarded himself as having the best claim to succeed him. While still believing himself incapable of begetting a child, Napoleon had as good as expressed his intention of nominating the son of Louis by Hortense as his heir. And Murat, spurred on by his ambitious wife, Caroline, had been led to believe that his immense popularity with the French Army and people would lead to their offering the crown to him rather than to any of the Bonaparte brothers.

During the next few days Roger made good progress. Except at the times when his wound was dressed, he was fairly free from pain. The healthy flesh of his buttock and thigh promised to heal well; so his badly bruised thigh bone was the only matter for concern, and his surgeon said he should be able to get about on crutches by the end of the week.

The girls came daily to see him, little Mary looking quite ravishing in a simple pink dress and a new spring bonnet. On the morning of April 5th he tried walking with crutches and found that he could do so without straining his injured leg; so, on the following day he was moved in an ambulance to the Legation and there most kindly welcomed by Lady Stuart.

That evening the Minister came up to spend an hour with him and gave him more precise details of the progress of the war. Wellington had led five divisions in pursuit of Massena and detached two under General Beresford to guard his rear against Soult, advancing into Estremadura and, if possible, relieve Badajoz. Unfortunately, Badajoz had fallen to Mortier much earlier than expected; but, now it was known that the French did not intend to move against Lisbon, a large part of Beresford's force had become available for other operations.

In the north, no pitched battle had been fought, but a constant series of independent actions by brigades and regiments. Marshal Ney had commanded the French rearguard with such skill that only on one occasion had he been caught napping. This had been three days earlier at Sabugal. The British light division had surprised the French 2nd Corps in a fog and killed or wounded over a thousand men. News had come in that morning that Soult's army had been driven out of Portugal, and had retired on to the great stronghold of Ciudad Rodrigo, which was all the Marshal had left to show for an inglorious campaign.

Next morning a footman helped Roger to dress, then get downstairs to sit in the garden. In the afternoon he went for a drive with the girls. But the unaccustomed exertion tried him so much that, on their return, he asked to be helped up to bed. By the time his dinner was brought up to him his fatigue had passed off and, after the footman had taken away his tray, he lay back on his pillows thinking how lucky he was to have made such good friends at the Legation and be able to convalesce in such com' fort.

At about eight o'clock there came a gentle knock on his door, and when he called 'Come in,' Mary entered the room, carrying half a dozen books. Smiling at him, she said:

'As usual, there were quite a number of guests for dinner, so when we'd finished I managed to slip away. I thought you might be bored; so I've brought you something to read.'

When he had thanked her, she asked, 'What were you thinking about when I came in?'

'How lucky I am to be here, and how very kind to me you all are,' he replied truthfully.

She made a little moue. 'I was hoping you would say you were thinking of me. I nearly fell through the floor with embarrassment when Sir Charles returned from the hospital that first day and said you had sent me your love. But when I got up to my room I hugged myself with delight. You do love me, don't you?'

Roger was in a quandary. He had no intention whatever of marrying Mary, and to seduce an unmarried girl whose upbringing gave him every reason to suppose that she was a virgin was against his code. The idea had never even crossed his mind. He was loath to encourage the tender feeling she obviously had for him, but at the same time, most reluctant to hurt her. She had laid the books on the bed and was standing beside him, her green eyes solemnly fixed on his.

Taking her hand, he said gently, Mary, my dear, of course I love you; but I'm not going to allow my affection for you to get the better of my judgment. As I told you that day when we picnicked out at Cintra, I'm too restless a man to settle down to married life. Moreover, I'm much too old for you.'

She shook her head and her ringlets danced. For such an intelligent man, you are really very stupid, I'm sure I could make you happy.'

'I'm sure you could,' he smiled, 'but the trouble is that I could make you happy only for a while. I'd again get that itch to travel. Then you'd be miserable, and try to persuade me not to. The result would be tears and quarrels.'

For the best part of a minute she was silent, then she said, 'Very well. I accept that. And I promise that I won't try to prevent your leaving Lisbon when you wish to go. But while you are here, I want you to treat me as though we were secretly engaged. You see, I haven't got a very bright future. I'm just averagely pretty, but not a beauty; and I haven't got a penny of my own. So when I do marry, it is almost certain to be someone that I don't really care about, and perhaps even older than you. I'd like to have just one romance in my life to look back on. Do you understand?'

Tears were brimming in Mary's eyes and Roger felt deeply sorry for her. Had he not been a nearly helpless invalid, he would have made some excuse to get a passage in the first ship leaving for England; as he felt that the sooner she saw no more of him, the better it would be for her. But as things were he knew that he would not be fit to travel for at least two weeks. In the circumstances, to refuse her request would have been brutal, and he swiftly made up his mind that, if he was going to pretend to be her fiancé, he must give her as much joy as possible by entering into the game wholeheartedly.

'Of course I understand,' he said, 'and I am truly delighted that you should offer me such happiness. But you must not take such a poor view of your attractions nor be so pessimistic about the future. You are not only a very lovely girl, but your gaiety and charm make you a wonderful companion. I'm certain that before long a man nearer your own age, and of ample fortune, will come into your life and beseech you to marry him. Now, I only pray that he does not come on the scene while I am in Lisbon. Come now; give me a fiancée’s kiss.'

Smiling, she quickly pulled her hand from his, perched herself on the edge of the bed and flung her arms round his neck. He held her tightly to him and her soft lips melted under his.

After they had spent a very happy half-hour, she said reluctantly, 'Roger, my love, I really must leave you now. Lady Stuart might come up to see if you wish anything, and if she found me here that would be terrible. We still have to be awfully careful, too, as if the family find out that you are making love to me, Sir Charles might ask your intentions, and that would be most awkward.'

'You're right, sweet Mary. But, as things are, it's going to be plaguey difficult for us to see each other alone with any frequency.'

For a moment she remained thoughtful, then she said, 'I think I will take Deborah into my confidence; though I'll not tell her that our engagement is only make believe. Then, when you decide to leave, I'll say that, having got to know you better, it was I who decided against your formally asking for my hand. Deborah is entirely to be trusted and, with her connivance, we'll be able to snatch meetings now and again in the summer house at the bottom of the garden.'

They embraced again and, after several long kisses, she left him to rejoin the party downstairs in the salon.

The ten days that followed were some of the most pleasant that, apart from those with Georgina, Roger had ever spent. His wounds had healed well. By the end of a week he was able to dress himself, and could get about with only a stick for support. Spring was in the air, but it was much warmer than it would have been in England, and nearly every day, with Deborah's assistance, he managed to get the best part of an hour alone with Mary.

Their meetings were usually in the summer house; but, on days when that could not be managed, she insisted on coming to his room, although he endeavored to persuade her not to. After his fourth day at the Legation, his injuries no longer prevented him from dining down stairs and afterwards joining in conversations, or listening to music with the other guests; so, if Mary came to his room it had to be late at night, after everyone had gone to bed and could be presumed to be asleep.

Greatly as he enjoyed these midnight visits, his reluctance to let her make them was not alone on account of the risk she ran of being found out. That was inconsiderable, as her room was only two doors away from his in the same corridor. His main objection was that she came to him with only a dressing gown over her night robe, and from the beginning of their affair he had been highly conscious that she was a very passionate little person. When they embraced, she always pressed her body hard against his, her eyes grew moist, her breathing rapid, and she deliberately tempted him to take the sort of liberties with her that were not unusual between respectable engaged couples. Being himself passionate, he took great joy in kissing her breasts and fondling her, but he was determined to go no further and the restraint he forced himself to exercise placed a great strain upon him.

It was on April 16th that she asked him to accompany her and Deborah to the hospital, as a cousin of hers, a Brigadier, had been wounded and arrived there the previous day. They drove there with flowers, fruit and wine and were shown up to a private room on the third floor. The man in the bed was fair haired, florid-faced and a year or two older than Roger. Having happily greeted Mary and Deborah, he looked at Roger, who was standing behind the girls, and exclaimed:

'God's boots! If it's not old Bookworm Brook! Fancy seeing you here,

Roger had already recognised him and had gone quite white. It was George Gunston, a man whom he had heartily disliked all his life. Bowing, he said coldly, 'The surprise is mutual.'

Mary glanced curiously from one to the other and said, 'So you two are already acquainted?'

Gunston laughed. 'Indeed we are. We were at school together. Most of us were keen on sports, but Brook always had his head buried in a book. That's why we gave him his nickname.'

Roger's smile was icy. 'You may recall that I spent a good part of my time learning to fence and shoot with a pistol, and in those accomplishments I became somewhat better than yourself.'

'That I'll not deny. So I find it all the more surprising that you have not volunteered for the Army.'

'Really, George!' Mary stamped her little foot. 'It's plain to see that you dislike each other. But I'll not have you quarrel in my presence.'

Both men then refrained from making any further antagonistic remarks; but the atmosphere remained uncomfortable. So, after having enquired about George's wound, and learned that he was disabled only by water on the knee, owing to a spent shell splinter having hit it, his visitors took their departure.

Immediately they were back in their carriage, Mary demanded to know why Roger so disliked her cousin. After a moment he replied, 'It's not only because Gunston bullied me unmercifully at school. I'd not harbour a grudge against him for all these years on that account. But we have come into collision on numerous occasions. In our early twenties, we fought a duel; later, when I was for a while Governor of Martinique,, he endeavored to seduce my wife's young cousin. Later still, in India, he was largely responsible for her death. That he happens to be a cousin of yours is regrettable, but the fact remains that he is a cad.'

'No, you are wrong about that,' Mary protested. 'It's obvious that you have had a prejudice against him from your schooldays, and happened to come up against him later in unpropitious circumstances; so you have seen only the worst side of him. But he's not a cad. He is a gay, amusing fellow, good-natured and generous. Of course, he is a very full blooded man, and something of a woman-chaser. I'd wager, though, that your wife's niece led him on. And that's not to be wondered at, for he's a fine, handsome man. You can't blame him if many women find him attractive.'

No more was said at the time; but, that afternoon in the summer house, Mary reopened the question by saying, 'It pains me greatly that two people whom I like should be enemies, and I want you to make it up with George. He is much too easy-going a man to bear malice against anyone, so it must be you who are keeping this old feud alive. Please, for my sake, make it up with him and agree to let bygones be bygones.'

As water on the knee was unlikely to prevent Gunston from riding a horse for much more than ten days, he would then be leaving Lisbon again for the front. It being unlikely that Roger would be called on to see much of him, albeit with some reluctance, but to please Mary, he agreed to her request. The following morning they paid another visit to the hospital. There, with commendable impartiality, Mary read both men a lecture and made them, looking a little sheepish, shake hands.

Two mornings later, Mary, who made most of her own clothes, said to Roger, 'I have a bolero that I want to finish and Deborah is helping me. But today we ought to send George some more fruit and wine. Id like you to take it to him, if you will. It will show better than anything that you really are willing to be friends and, if you are alone together, that will give you a chance to explain how lack of understanding each other's point of view led to your past differences.'

Roger could hardly refuse, so he took the things to the hospital and was shown into Gunston's room. The florid Brigadier's fair eyebrows went up and he said with a laugh, 'Well, this is an honour! Damned good of you, Brook, to bring me more wine. I can do with it; and I'm greatly obliged to you.'